


To Ride Again

by aderyn_merch



Category: The Scorpio Races - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-03 16:22:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16329464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aderyn_merch/pseuds/aderyn_merch
Summary: Four years after Corr's injury, Sean Kendrick is forced to race again for a different set of stakes.





	1. In the Tea Room Four Years Later

Sean

Age hasn’t been kind to Benjamin Malvern. The change has been subtle, but he’s gotten older nonetheless. His shoulders have started curling inwards and his cheeks have begun to sag. I don’t know how I’ve missed this. He looks the same around the yard, but sitting in the tea-room the difference of the past four years is glaring.   
“So you want to buy horses,” he says to me, “And start your own yard.”  
I nod. I told him this yesterday. He deferred judgment until here. Now “Rosewood, Skipjack and Fisher.” I tell him. Not the best horses available– Malvern would never sell those to me– but good enough. Just a bit of potential to start my own yard until I have the money to buy horses from the mainland.   
Malvern nods, his wrinkled hands fold on the table in front of him. He knows I have the money saved up to buy all three at the usual selling price. But he also knows that buying from him is my only current option, and that the minute he sells these horses to me, he’ll loose me. And Puck too. He’s either going to outright refuse me, or make a counter offer. I don’t think he’s refusing me.  
Which is why we’re not meeting back at his house.   
There’s a tense pause, before Malvern says “I’ll sell them to you under one condition.”  
I wait, trying not to think of what he will ask of me. That I continue working for him until spring? That I leave Thisby to start a yard elsewhere?  
“You will ride for me in the races this year. And win.”   
The ocean inside of me goes still. I haven’t raced in four years, and I never intended to again. Not without Corr. I’ve only trained the Cappaill Usce, and Malvern has sent other employees to the beach. None of them have had much success. The popularity of Malvern’s yard is fading.  
There’s a flutter inside of me that remembers the races. The feeling of being so very alive. The sand and the ocean, the blood and the sweat. And Corr.  
I can’t bear the thought of racing without him. But I also know that I can’t last another year stuck under Malvern’s roof. It’s getting intolerable.   
I stand in the ocean again, unmoving. I know what I need. It’s time to gamble again.  
“Ok.” I tell him. “I’ll race. One last time.” 

Puck

Sean doesn’t get back from town until late. I’ve just finished mucking out Nyx’s stall when Sean steps out of the shadows. His face, which would be blank to most people, appears troubled to me. The meeting with Malvern didn’t go as planned.  
“Is he,” I hesitate, “he’s not selling them to you, is he? He won’t.” I can feel anger creeping up my neck, and I consider confronting Malvern on my own. I tell myself it isn’t worth it. Next year, if both of us save a little more money, we’ll be able to import a horse or two from the mainland. We’ll finish the repairs on Sean’s house. He’ll finally get to sleep under a roof of his own, instead of drowning under Malvern. It’s just not going to be this year. That’s all. I can’t let Malvern get to me. If I yell at him I might loose my job and then there will be trouble.   
But Sean shakes his head no. “He’ll sell them,” he says slowly, “when I win the races for him.”   
I don’t know what to say. Because the first image that I see when Sean says he’s racing is a boy on a red stallion. But he can’t race Corr. And so I can’t picture it.   
I try logic instead. “That’s, I mean, that’s not the worst.” I say. “Nyx is well trained by now, so that’s a bit of an advantage.”  
Sean looks at the black mare in the stall behind me and shakes his head. “She’ll never be fast enough.”  
Realization smashes into me like a cold bucketful of water. “No.” I tell him. “No, you aren’t. We’ll catch another horse before the race.”  
Again, Sean shakes his head. “I doubt we’ll be able to catch a faster horse. He’s almost settled, Puck. If I start training him harder now, it should be fine.”  
I look out beyond the reach of the electric light where Malvern’s second usce stands somewhere in that dark. “Sean,” I say, “He’s already killed two riders.”   
“I can do it,” Sean says. “I don’t have a choice.”   
He isn’t looking at me. I set down my bucket and pick up his hand instead. “But you do,” I tell him. “Next year we can get horses from the mainland. Or we’ll ask Dory Maud who to gamble on and make money on the races that way.”   
“I can’t,” Sean says quietly. “I agreed to the deal.”  
I reach up and turn his face so that he has to look at me now. “Then promise me that you won’t train him without me there. Just in case.”   
“Puck,” he breathes.   
“Promise?”  
“I promise.”   
I stand in his arms, breathing the scent of the ocean and horses out of the collar of his jacket.   
“You don’t have to stay here tonight,” the words slide out of my mouth before I can catch them. “I mean, come for dinner at least.”   
Sean touches his lips to my hair. “All right,” he says.   
It’s a quiet walk back home, Sean on one side of me, my bicycle on the other. 

Sean

I never intend to stay overnight at the Connolly house, but I always end up doing it anyway. Finn keeps Gabe’s old bed made up now for me. I’ve got a seat at the dinner and breakfast table. We’ve got a piece of paper keeping track of how many card games each of the three of us has won.   
But this will never be my house. And I never stay over more than twice a month.   
I’ve got to win the races. I’ve got to buy those horses and move back into my father’s house. I fell asleep last night trying to find the words to describe this to Puck. To explain why it has to be now. And this morning I know.   
If I win every evening will be mint tea and a fire when it’s cold. Every dinner will be an awkward dance in a kitchen too small for two people. Every morning will be dew and yawns, and bare feet.   
Every day will be Puck, and the horses, and me. And that’s all I need.   
But I don’t tell her this now. Because I hope she feels it too.  
“How are you so awake?” She mumbles taking the piece of bread I hand her. It’s 4:30. Earlier than she usually gets up. Back in the second bedroom, Finn is still sound asleep. I feel a little guilty about leaving before dawn. But if I’m going to ride Tern, I need to start training him now, preferably in daylight.   
I don’t answer her. Instead, I cap the jam and slowly start untangling the comb that’s caught in her hair.  
“I can get that,” she whispers.  
But instead I work the curls back around the handle and slowly pull it free.   
“Thanks,” she bites into the bread to free up her hands and sweeps her hair into a ponytail. “It’s a waste of time to try and comb it.” She says, chewing. “What do you want for lunch?”  
“I have goat cheese back at Malvern’s.” I say.  
“I’ll bring bread then. No. Crackers. Save the bread.” She disappears into the pantry, still whispering about food possibilities. She comes back with a small container of strawberries, and I nod. But what I really want is to prepare and eat a lunch at my own kitchen table.   
Not today though. Today we pack a little food into a bag made from a blanket, then set out in the pre-dawn fog back to Malvern’s yard.


	2. Unbackable

Puck  
While Corr is red as blood, Tern is the pale gray of a ghost. His dark mane is stark against his coat, which is bleached almost to white in the stable lights. He looks more like a newspaper photograph than an actual flesh-eating beast.   
I stand back as Sean tacks Tern up, just as precise this morning as he has been for the past week. As he has always been. He weaves a single red ribbon around the bridle, and attaches a lone bronze bell to the loose end. Tern snorts, tossing his head around until Sean whispers in his ear. Then wordlessly we walk out to the gallop.   
Sean works Tern silently, up and down a short section of the gallop. I stand at the center mark, gauging the usce’s mood. He’s restless today. Frustrated with the bell, and the rider on his back, he bucks occasionally, shaking his head so the bell rings.   
Stopping in front of me, Sean reaches forward to unwind the ribbon, and toss it to me. Tern perks up, he holds his head higher, more still. Sean whispers in his ear, and they set off again, this time at a smoother gait.   
Behind the fences that surround us the rest of the yard begins to wake. Grooms and jockeys go about their morning’s work, all carefully avoiding walking near the gallop, although they glance over frequently. In two days the race training truly starts, and the usce will be taken away to the beach, much to the relief of the rest of Malvern’s staff. A few have hinted heavily over the past week that they’re happy Sean’s riding and not them. I don’t agree.   
Sean stops again, his left hand tying knots in Terns mane. It’s too soon for the workout to be done. I walk towards them both, and now I can see the concentration on Sean’s face, and the restlessness of the usce. An hour of riding and and Tern has yet to tire.   
Sean leans forward to whisper something and slowly Tern stops his restless movements. Sean sits up straighter, ready to ride again.   
Then somewhere in the space between seconds, Tern throws him. Sean is in the saddle and then he simply is not, and I’m running, although I don’t know where he’s fallen. And there’s the horse before me. Wailing and rearing and without thinking I throw out my hand so that the ribbon and bell swing towards him.   
Tern skitters backwards. I can’t see Sean, but I know the minute I take my eyes of this usce we will both be dead. I ring the bell again, and Tern backs up again, falling silent. His full attention is on me, so I begin to shush him. With both palms out, I approach him slowly, and he backs up until he reaches the fence, twisting his head to always face the bell.   
And now I’m not certain what I should do, so I just keep moving forward. And Sean’s not at my side which means he hasn’t gotten up. Which means he can’t. I can feel my pulse in my head.  
Tern shies away from the bell, and it’s my only protection but I need to get close enough to tie him up. So I slide the bell into my pocket. Tern lets me close enough to grab his bridle. I tie him to the fence with the reins and draw a circle in the dirt around him. My mouth is so dry I can’t spit in it like I usually do, so I take a handful of salt from my pocket and scatter it around instead.   
Then I turn around.  
Sean kneels in the center of the gallop, hutched around himself. He looks up when I crouch before him and his face is absolutely bloodless. His left arm is folded tight against his chest and by the way he cradles it I know it’s broken.   
Something inside me starts tearing at the seams and everything I have been expecting over the next few days vanishes. Neither of us say anything, then I help him up.   
Jenner has stopped and is leaning against the fence, his eyebrows disappear beneath the fringe of his hair as we walk closer.   
“Should I get Dr. Halsal?” He asks.   
I nod, and he sprints off.   
Sean and I wait.

Sean

I’m curled up in an armchair at the Connolly’s house, sleepy with that heavy feeling that always follows a broken bone. My arm is wrapped up in cotton and cradled in a sling, aching.   
But I can’t sleep. Not as I watch Puck oil her boots in an attempt to make them last another winter. She sits on the floor in front of the woodstove and scrapes the mud from the cracks in the leather. Her face is set in an expression almost petulant, and I can’t stand it anymore.  
“I’m sorry,” I say.  
Puck’s face crumples. She drops her rag. “For what?” She demands, “You got hurt, Sean! And I was trying to catch that stupid usce and I couldn’t see you and–“  
It wasn’t anger in her face before, it was the stubbornness she hides her fears behind. I sit up and hold out my right hand. She scrubs the tears from her eyes, angry at herself for crying. But she doesn’t hesitate to climb into the chair with me, careful not to brush up against my bandaged arm. We are right up against each other, elbows in the way and legs overlapping.   
“I just,” Puck says so quietly her voice catches a bit, “You hadn’t gotten up and… It could’ve been so much worse.”   
I could’ve been Tern’s next casualty. I throw the possibility out of my mind and hold Puck closer.  
“But it wasn’t.” I say.  
“I know.” She rests her head against my chest and closes her eyes. Now my arm isn’t the only thing that feels broken. My entire body throbs because she is so close and yet not close enough. Because I can’t fall asleep or wake up beside her. I can’t spend every night sitting this close her. I can’t even hold her with both my arms now.   
“We’ll figure something out,” She murmurs. “We’ll bet on the races or something.”  
“Not enough to transport horses from the mainland, fix the house and pay Halsal.” I won’t be leaving Malvern’s this year. I have already gambled and lost.  
Puck is silent for a moment, then she tilts her head up to kiss me.  
“I’m sorry, Sean.” 

Phipps  
The sea is fussy today. Not dangerous, nor submissive, just active enough to knock the less familiar tourists off their feet and un-tethered bags off their shelves. I do a round of the decks, checking that everything’s secure and advising the more queasy passengers that eating something will actually help. It’s a two and a half hour trip to Thisby– two and a quarter on a good day, so we don't bother with serving meals. But there’s a small bar on the second deck that sells tea and biscuits and such.   
It’s here that I find Mitchell, perched on a low stool and leaning against the counter.   
“Mind if we switch?” he asks, meaning that he’ll walk the deck and I’ll mind the bar. He’s as restless as most sailors, though perhaps in a quieter way. Smoking cigarettes instead of chewing tobacco, and not constantly tapping his fingers. ‘Course, he’s only got eight of those left, so he’s more careful with them than the rest of us.  
“Sure,” I scoot around the bar and assume his seat while he takes up my saunter around the deck. Right now I don’t mind the sitting. I’m only restless on land, and never when I’m on my way to Thisby. I think I am like their horses.  
I’m not at the bar long when a familiar passenger meanders over. He’s got better sea legs than he should, considering he lives on a ranch in California. But that’s my general impression of George Holly; competent and friendly enough to sail through life while the rest of us row.   
“Ah, Miss Phipps,” he says, “Just the person I was looking for.”   
“Mr. Holly, glad you’re back. Is there anything I can get you?” I always make an effort to be polite to Mr. Holly, not because he gives good tips –that's not the point–but because he’s one of a few decent men in the world. And if what I’ve heard is true, the fact he can still smile is miraculous. He’s a curiosity and a gentleman, and those are two things I appreciate.  
He sits down at the bar and orders a coffee with the customary apology for his American habits. I warm up the machine and grab a mug with a lid from the cupboards. This is a formality, but it’s one we both like.  
“Where did you winter this year?” Holly asks, as I measure out the coffee grounds. Since the ferry only runs three seasons, I’m always floundering for something to do during the fourth. Four years ago, when I was thirteen I managed to be hired as a cabin boy for a trip to the orient. When I was fifteen I slipped on a transatlantic cruise as a waitress. But not this year.  
“Cardiff,” I tell Holly, “The system caught up with me and I ended up in school.”   
Holly gives me a smile that’s subtly different than his usual blinding one. It’s one that says he caught the bitterness in my voice and understands. “Did they let you return here, or did you run here?”   
I shoot him a dirty glare for insinuating that I would do something like that, then immediately feel guilty. Because I have done that several times. It’s not that I don’t think learning is important. And I understand the opportunities of a high school degree. I’m just not made for living on land. So I tend to run back to the sea.  
“They let me come here,” The coffee maker starts to gurgle, and I check to make sure it’s not leaking, “Harrison talked to them. Said it was important that I earn money, and learn life skills and all that stuff. Said I’d worked for him for years and that he wasn’t going to loose a good crew-member to a summer of doing nothing. ‘Course, they’ll be right back to get me the minute the ferry is winterized.”   
Holly nods like I have said something with great significance, and watches as I pour him his coffee. He drinks it black. I should ask him about California. About the ranch, and what he did this past year. But that’s never what I’ve wanted to know. I could find out easily enough all about millionaire George Holly. What I want to know about is younger George Holly, dreamer George Holly. Soldier George Holly.   
But I’m being polite so I will never ask that.  
“And how’s Thisby?” he asks, as I cap the mug so the waves won’t spill it and set it in front of him.   
“It’s Thisby,” I tell him, “So, Thisby-like. Mediocre fishing this year. Father Moonyham retired and the new priest actually drives the red car. Brian Carrol is courting Evelyn Carrick, though in my opinion she’s much too passive for him, and Peg Gratton apparently agrees.”   
I add details as I remember. This is what Holly’s here for. Four years ago, when I first started working on the ferry, I made the mistake of telling him some things I’d observed about the island. Some things I’d found out while snooping in my off hours between trips. And now I am his provider of information, his benevolent spy.   
What can I say? I know things and he tips well. And it’s satisfying to put my curiosity to work.  
“And how are Kendrick and Connolly?” Holly asks. He always asks. Near as I can tell, he played matchmaker for them and now has a personal investment in their relationship succeeding.   
Pulling up my seat, I sit across the bar from him and lean my elbows on the table. “Now there,” I tell him, “Is a saga.”   
“Good or bad?” He asks.  
“Both,” I say, “That’s why it’s a saga.” I consider making myself a cup of tea to enhance this conversation. But Harrison frowns upon staff eating passenger food, so I won’t. “Kendrick started fixing up his father’s house this year, which is a good sign, seeing as the stable was more sure than the house the time I walked out there.” Holly nods, he sees what this implies. “Even better, I chanced to see him visiting Tarr’s.” I wait for the information to sink in, but all I see is Holly’s confusion. “The pawn shop and only place to get decent jewelry on Thisby.” I clarify.   
Now Holly smiles. “Go on,”   
“But,” I say, “Sean got hurt. Two days ago. He’d been training a cappall pretty consistently, and the horse threw him. Broken arm. They say he was planning on riding again. That Malvern had asked him to one last time. But that’s out of the question now.”  
Holly nods sagely, and takes a tentative sip of his coffee. “Could be worse,” he says, “Is that all?”  
“That I know now,” Another passenger emerges from the stairwell onto the deck, and staggers towards us, about to put an abrupt end to our gossip. “But I intend to find out more, and you know how to find me.”  
As the other man reaches the bar, Holly stands and thanks me. He leaves the payment for his coffee and a generous tip on the counter. He takes his good company with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *looking at the taboo of adding new characters to fics* Oh well... *shrug*


	3. Gamble

Puck

Training starts today and the hotel is already packed. I weave around the tourists until I find a corner with a view of the door. Malvern isn’t here from what I can see, so I wait. People are looking at me and whispering, but I ignore them. Malvern wants me here to incite gossip and I might as well do what he wants and hope to stay in his good graces.   
I run my fingers along the frayed edge of the ribbon on my wrist and try not to feel guilty. I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t want to.   
But I have to.  
Malvern walks in, he glances around and spots my hair first.   
“Miss Connolly,” He greets me.  
I nod, “Mr. Malvern.”   
“I presume you are well.”  
“Fair.”  
The pleasantries end abruptly. “So you wish to race?”   
“No,” I say, “What I want is for you to offer me the same deal you offered Sean. The horses in return for a first place finish.”  
Malvern crosses his arms and studies me. “And how does Kendrick feel about this little rearrangement?”  
I shove my hands in my pockets because I realize I’ve been playing with the ribbon again. “He’ll come to terms with it,” I answer, because it’s a vague version of the truth.  
Malvern dips his chin in a small nod. “I see.” He pauses, and in that silence I can sense every ear in the hotel straining for his answer. “Unfortunately, I have no intention of accepting another offer on those three horses.”  
“This isn’t another offer,” I clarify, although I get a suffocating sense that it won’t make a difference, “the only thing that changes is that I’ll be riding.”   
“Exactly,” Malvern doesn’t even hesitate, “My offer was accepted by Kendrick. And stands only if Kendrick rides.”   
I bite my lip to force myself to think before answering. There’s no sense in arguing over such useless details. A portion of the money for those horses is mine, and I have just as much stake in them as Sean. For a fleeting second I consider telling Malvern this. That I am in a sense a Kendrick. Not in name, not now, and probably not for a long while, but I hope someday.   
Except that is exactly the sort of gossip the tourists in this hotel would devour. I don’t know when I decided that I wanted to marry Sean Kendrick, but I do, and it’s the sort of embarrassing fantasy that I really don’t care to have everyone knowing. Especially Sean.   
“So you won’t make me an offer.” I say at last.   
“I am willing to extend you a similar deal, providing two things.” Malvern pulls his shoulder’s back, straightening his whole frame. In an instant he becomes years younger. He becomes his son.   
I work to keep my fear from showing. This isn’t kindness. Very few things entertain Malvern, but I am certain that whatever he has planned for me will satisfy his masochism. And I am very certain that I will not like it.   
“First, I will only sell you two of the three horses. And second, you race on Tern,” he finishes.  
It’s a terrible deal, and Malvern knows it. Less reward and more risk. The last cappail usce that Sean could not tame was the piebald that killed Mutt. Tern might be less vicious, but he’s more stubborn, independent. More likely to throw and trample me than drown or devour me.   
I told Sean after he had accepted the original deal that he had a choice. Now I’m the one who has the choice. I could say no. I could walk out of here guaranteed to live through the month. Or I could gamble.   
I could gamble on the horses. On a chance for Sean to leave Malvern’s control. On that distant whimsical fancy I hide beneath my pillow and only contemplate seconds before I fall asleep.   
What I told Sean was wrong. There really isn’t a choice.  
“I’ll do it.” It’s a sticky sort of regret that builds up inside me when I realize Dove won’t be with me this time. I will ride a cappaill usce in the Scorpio races. I will ride the beast that almost killed Sean.   
Malvern nearly smiles and I know he is already amused. “Well, then Miss Connolly. I guess we have a deal.”

Sean

With my left arm encased in plaster, there is very little I can actively do around the yard. I’m stuck running small errands, or ensuring the grooms and stablehands are actually doing their jobs. Malvern did mention that I should show buyers around in his absence this morning, but with the races still two and a half weeks away, Holly’s the only one present. He isn’t exactly interested in retouring the yard.  
We stand against the fence of one of the peripheral paddocks, watching a few four year olds Malvern is desperate to sell. I should be at the gallops right now, or on the beach. I’m certain I could ride a few of the horses one handed, but Dr. Halsal made it very clear that I wasn’t to jostle my arm if I wanted it to heal straight. He’d given Puck a hard look and told her to make sure I listened.   
“And where is Miss Connolly this morning?” Holly asks. He’s got a flighty smile tacked onto his face.   
“Town,” I say, because it’s the only other place I can imagine her being besides the yard. Somebody needed to make a run to the butcher.   
“And when is the wedding?” Holly continues, in the exact same tone.  
I sigh and try to rub some of the dirt off my cast. I don’t remember telling Holly my intentions, but he knows them anyway.   
“You haven’t asked her yet, have you?” Holly’s smile dims.   
I shake my head no.   
“I can foot you the cost of a ring if that’s the problem,” Holly says, but I shake my head again. I found my mother’s wedding ring in my father’s house and traded it in for an engagement ring. “Then what’s stopping you?”   
“I’m stuck here,” I tell him.   
“What’s Malvern holding over your head this time?”   
“Nothing,” I say. “But I can’t live in my father’s house and work here.”  
“And Puck can’t live in your tiny flat.” Holly rubs his bottom lip. “That is a dilemma. You have to work to eat and eat to live. Any chance you could move into the Connolly house?”   
I shrug. Maybe it’s pride, but I’m uncomfortable with that option. That house doesn’t belong to Puck alone. It’s Finn’s too, and Gabe’s if he ever decides to come visits. The master bedroom is still a shrine to their parents’ lives.   
I don’t doubt that they’d let me move in, but I can’t ask that of them.   
“What was your plan then?” Holly puts his hands in the pockets of his pressed slacks.  
“Buy a few horses, start a yard, and move back into my father’s house.”   
“And what’s the catch?”  
My left elbow has started to itch beneath the plaster. It’s only been a day and I want to be out of this cast. “Malvern wouldn’t sell to me unless I won the races.”  
Holly fills in the missing pieces, “And you won’t be riding any time soon.” I don’t respond to that. Instead I stare down the road towards the tiny figure walking back from Skarmouth. It’s definitely Puck.   
Holly follows my gaze. “There’s nothing wrong,” he says, “with asking her and putting the wedding off until you two have saved up enough money to import the horses you need.”  
“I’d rather be certain and settled.” I say, because it’s better than admitting that this whole business has me very bothered. I’d prefer to head straight into the just living with Puck and skip this whole wedding thing. But it’s a formality I know the rest of the island expects.   
Holly simply laughs, “Sean Kendrick, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you are more afraid of Puck than you are of any of the flesh eating horses.”  
I watch Puck walking down the roadside and think that both she and the uisce are forces I can never truly tame. If the horses are the ocean, she is the island. “I’m know both could kill me,” I tell Holly, “which isn’t the same as being afraid.”   
Holly laughs louder at that, clapping a hand on my shoulder. Puck hears him, and alters her course, swinging over the fence and walking past the horses to stand in front of us. Her hands are empty, and she isn’t quite looking at me.   
Holly’s smile reflects the sun as he shakes her hand, “And here’s the horsewoman herself.”   
“George Holly,” Puck says, “How’s California?”   
“Nothing but sunshine. How’s Puck Connolly?”  
“Fine,” Her empty hands keep twisting her ribbon around her wrist. It’s a clear blue, the same color as her eyes. Although by now a year of wear has stained and frayed it. I have a piece of white ribbon stashed up in my room for this coming race day. I thought it would match her dress, but since that won’t be this year, I might give her another red one.   
“Did you stop in at Gratton’s?” I ask.  
“Yes, but only briefly.” She still won’t look at me. I get this sudden sinking feeling that she’s scared of me, and I can’t for the life of me fathom why. “I placed an order for pick up tomorrow.”   
The entire morning is a long time to be gone placing one order, and we both know it. Which is perhaps why she hesitates before adding, “I also met with Malvern.”  
I almost ask what business she could possibly have with Malvern when I suddenly know. “No,” I grip the fence with my right hand, “tell me you didn’t agree to that.”  
“I made a deal,” Her voice is pitched a little higher than usual, but still has force behind it.  
“Not Tern.” I am staring at her as if that will make her answer faster.  
“On him. That was part of the deal.”   
Malvern once told me that Puck was a hurricane in the shape of a girl. And at this moment I am drowning in her storm. All I can see is her blood on the beach, or floating in clouds in the water. That horse nearly killed me on dry land. I will loose her. But she is a force I can never stop.   
“Why?” My voice is disconnected from the rest of me.  
“For the horses,” She says.   
My hand slides off the fence rail. I am nothing but the pounding of my heart and an ache where my chest should be. I have nothing to say, and nothing left to do, and I’m walking away without realizing it. I sit outside Corr’s stall with my head in my hand and try to stand in a hurricane sea.

 

Puck  
I sit on the fence of the far paddock and press my hands to my mouth so I don’t cry. It’s not that I expected Sean to be happy with my decision; it’s just that this wasn’t the response I had prepared for. I had walked home rehearsing my argument. He hadn’t argued. He’d just walked away. Like I didn’t exist anymore.   
My entire core feels hollow.  
“He’s not mad at you,” Holly says, leaning on the fence beside me. His mouth has flattened into a thin line, and his face looks strange without it’s usual smile.   
“I know,” I choke out.   
He’s silent for a few moments before he asks, “You’re racing for more than the horses, right?”   
I clench my hands together as I take them away from my mouth. “If Sean can buy the horses, he can quit working for Malvern and live in his father’s house.” Sean should’ve left four years ago. He should’ve won and bought Corr, then won the races the next year and lived off that money. Instead he bought a broken horse with the last of his savings and has had to slowly rebuild his dreams.   
“Ah,” Holly says, his accent making the vowel less broad. “You think he was racing for his freedom.”   
“He can’t stand to live here another year,” I’m certain. I remember the expression on Sean’s face two nights ago.   
Holly looks up at me and I can tell he disagrees. He shakes his head. “Sean didn’t gamble because of what he can’t live with, he gambled for what he can’t live without.”   
“How is that any different?” I ask, “It’s just saying that instead of needing to get away from Malvern what he needs is his freedom.”  
Holly puts his smile back on slowly, and with less of it’s usual brightness. It’s a rather tattered smile and I wonder where he got it. “We determined four years ago this wasn’t about freedom.”  
“But then–“  
“Ask him,” Holly straightens, pushing off the fencepost. “I assume you know where to find him.”  
I nod. He’ll be with Corr.  
“Good. I’ll walk back with you to the stables.”

 

Sean  
Someone sits down beside me and I know it’s Puck without ever looking up. It was her footsteps, and the scuff of her pants and the soft scent of soap, dirt and horses that clings to her.   
“Holly’s being cryptic,” Her voice is quiet, and a little bitter. But I know her well enough now to know that’s how she hides sadness. She doesn’t apologize, and I’m glad she doesn’t. Otherwise she wouldn’t be Puck. I look up, but her hair hides most of her face, and she’s staring at her feet, not me. “I thought you decided to race to get the horses so you could quit working here. Holly says I’m wrong and won’t tell me what he thinks.”  
I hesitate before carefully moving her curls away from her cheek. “He’s got me all figured out.” He’s George Holly. He’s always read me like the police reports in the back of the newspaper. All the excess cut away to the bare truth.   
“Why did you agree to race?” she asks, “This wasn’t about leaving Malvern’s was it?”  
Finally, she looks at me. Her eyes are dark, but they seem dry.  
“I thought you knew.”   
She closes her eyes, and a single tear slips out. Wrapping my good arm around her, I pull her against my shoulder. “I didn’t want you to leave.” She speaks into my collar. I think about all the people who have loved her that have left her.   
“Why do you think I stay?” I tell her, “The sand, the sea, the sky, Corr, and you.”   
She doesn’t respond, and I don’t want her to. Silence and several moments of holding her are enough. Behind me, Corr shifts quietly in his stall. He came back to me, and I can only hope that Puck will do the same.   
“I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I,” I barely hear her. “We should’ve just bet on the races, lived in my house and worked here for another year.”  
My fingers are caught in her hair. “It’s late for that, Puck,” And I hope she smiles at that. Her face is turned into my neck so I can’t see, but I imagine she does. Corr moves to stand right in front of the door, and tilts his head to look at us. He came back to me. And while that is why I love him, maybe I’ve forgotten that few things on this island come when called. Most are wild, independent. Corr is. Puck is. But they don’t have to be tamed to choose to stay. They simply have to be respected. Loved. And that may be the answer. Whatever weight has been crushing my chest lightens.  
“I think you stand a good chance at winning.” I breath into Puck’s ear. She pulls back just enough so that she can look at me.  
“What makes you think that? You couldn’t tame Tern.”  
I shake my head. “Taming isn’t the point. I was trying to treat him like Corr. Treat him like Tern.”  
Slowly, I see Puck considering. I hope she understands. My memories of Corr distorted my opinion on this new uisce. Puck had no such prejudices. If she can understand Tern, she can ride him. She can earn his respect. She doesn’t need to tame him, she needs to work with him.   
There’s a short moment of epiphany that is beautiful to watch, then Puck nods once sharply. “I have horses to ride,” she says. “And then we’d better get to the beach.”


	4. Keown Woman

Puck  
This late in the evening, as the tide pulls back, the beach is empty. Sean walks beside me as I lead Tern down the track towards the sand. The horse is as restless as the grass in the wind, but he doesn’t feel malevolent. His ears are pointed in a way that’s definitely not horse-like, but isn’t particularly evil.   
Four years ago, I stood on this beach and chose to ride Dove instead of one of the cappaill. Now it would seem wrong not to be riding one. I don’t know when they changed from monsters to a defining trait of Thisby, but they have.   
But that doesn’t mean I trust them.  
Sean holds the reins as I mount up, Tern dancing beneath me. I take him on a slow turn around the beach and he settles. But it’s a menacing calm, an attempt to get me to relax so that he can throw me.  
Keown women don’t fall off horses.  
I try to see the world as he does, perhaps give a little bit of myself over to his magic. I can feel it, humming just beneath Tern’s skin. It’s telling me to give in, to let the reins loose. I feel them start to slide by my fingers then grip them tight again.   
But then, I am here to train. And if Tern wants to run, why not let him? I nudge him into a trot, then a canter. Yet he is slippery to steer, and more than once I touch iron to his veins to keep him from entering the water.   
He doesn’t want to drown me. At least, I don’t get the sense that he’s actively trying to. Nor does he seem interested in eating me. Instead, each time he tests my control it’s an act of annoyance, and rebellion. He’s not in charge and he despises it.   
Corr, I have noticed, is vain. But Tern is proud, and to Sean those two faults must’ve felt the same.   
As I reach the end of the beach again, I slow Tern and stop. I cannot suppress his pride. Sean has tried that and failed. I must work with it. I must become something greater than an annoyance. I have to be respected.   
I take the bell out of my pocket, where it has been muffled by a ribbon and drop both in the sand. Sean starts forward from the place where he was leaning against the cliffs but I shake my head and he stops. He’s close enough that if I do fall, he can grab Tern before he can run into the sea, but far enough not to get hurt. I look around at the sand beneath me and tell myself that if I do fall, I won’t get hurt either. But if this is to work, I can’t fall.  
I grip the reins tight, and lean forward. Keown women don’t fall off horses.   
“Go ahead,” I whisper in Tern’s ear. “Test me.”   
There are several, long tense seconds.  
Then Tern rears up, and hops almost sideways. He twists and turns beneath me, trying everything he knows to spill me onto the sand.   
I refuse to fall off.   
Then he surges into a gallop and I let him, but steer him straight across the beach. When the sand ends, I try to turn him and he tries again to throw me off before racing back across the sand. We go on until he has lathered and my arms feel flimsy, and my hands are burning with blisters.   
And he starts to listen to me. I slow him to a trot, then a walk, and lean forward to whisper to him.  
“We could win,” I say, “We could out run them all. But only if you let me ride you.”   
He shakes himself, just a little. Then I stop him in front of Sean and slide off. I don’t think my legs can hold me, but they have to. When Tern is tired, I cannot be. I have to be the stronger.   
Tern tilts his head just a little, regarding me with one big eye. He wants to be in charge. The leader. The alpha. And he can win if he lets me ride him. I don’t back away from his stare.  
When at last he looks away, I have the odd sense that we’ve come to an agreement.   
I start leading Tern up the road off the beach. I have run him and myself into the ground, but I can’t let him see my tiredness. Sean comes up, taking my free hand in his, and gives it a small squeeze. And when I glance up at his face, he gives me a delicate smile.   
We walk back to Malvern’s in the twilight.

Sean  
I head down into the groom’s quarter to grab another plate, and by the time I walk back into my apartment, Puck is asleep on my bed. I am caught for a time, by her stillness. How she seems softer and smaller sprawled across my bed sheets. Then she mumbles in her sleep and I can move again.   
Setting the plate down gently, I kneel to pull off Puck’s boots. She’s got them hanging over the edge of the bed, and when I take them off, she mumbles something more and rolls farther onto the bed.  
I don’t wake her. Instead, I eat a quiet dinner standing in my doorway.   
Tonight she’ll head to the butcher’s and sign up officially. I wonder if Peg will write her name at the top, in the space they still reserve for me. I wonder if they’ll even let her enter after she beat them last time.   
I don’t think I’ve ever been afraid of so many things in my life.   
But no. That isn’t right. I’m only afraid of one thing: loosing Puck. But there are a million ways I could loose her.   
I shudder, remembering the sight of Tern thrashing about with Puck clinging to him. I watch it once more in my memory then force it out of my head. The horse is no longer the biggest threat. I remember Puck as she dismounted. How she held Tern’s gaze and he backed down.   
No, her uisce shouldn’t be a problem.  
I set my plate in the sink, not bothering to be quiet. Puck doesn’t even stir. I place my hand on her shoulder and shake her gently.   
“Puck,”  
She opens her eyes slowly. Her hair is loose all over her face, and tangled in my fingers. With a quiet little “oh,” she sits up. “Did I miss dinner?”  
I nod, “there’s food left. Are you heading to Gratton’s tonight?”   
Nodding, she reaches up to pull her hair out of her face, and winces. I start, suddenly wondering if she was hurt and never told me. “Sore as hell,” she mumbles, then pulls her hair back into a ponytail.   
All things considered, it could be worse. I hand her a plate and some water, and she eats, quickly and quietly.   
“You’re coming too, right?” she asks, “To Gratton’s, I mean.”   
Now that she’s asked, I realize that I’ve been hoping she would. I don’t know how Thisby will respond to her trying to race again, but I know it won’t be pleasant.   
I can’t talk her out of this. I can’t stand in her way. And to try would only hurt her chances.   
“Of course,” I tell her, “We’d better go.” 

Phipps  
It’s a rare occasion that I have to overnight on Thisby. But there are days where the schedule can’t be kept, and if there’s one thing Harrison won’t do, it’s navigate the waters around Thisby on an October night. He’s not a coward, he just knows tourists are stupid and can sue.   
So he gives us each a stipend for a room above the Black Eyed Girl, and tell us he’ll see us the next morning. Which means tonight I have the run of Skarmouth. Which means I end up at the butchers.   
Normally Gratton’s is a place I tend to avoid. Nothing against butchers, just that I’ve seen Peg Gratton from a distance, and I don’t think she’d appreciate me snooping through her town. I’d like to remain as anonymous as possible.  
But tonight the butcher’s is crowded enough with others I can hide easily. Wearing my dark green slicker, and tucking my light hair into a darker cap, I can blend right in if you disregard the fact I’m a foot shorter than most of the spectators. But that’s an advantage. People who like making a scene don’t often look down.   
I peer between the shoulders of two fishermen and watch the blackboard behind the counter slowly fill up. And I watch Holly’s two favorite riders.   
Kate Connolly might not be any taller than me, but she’s got presence. I’d say it’s the hair–wild and bright against the dark figures around her–but tonight it obviously isn’t. She’s noticed because she’s a girl and she’s won before.   
There’s a stifling energy in the air, a cold that reminds me of black eyes and pocket knives and spitting blood. Except for once it’s not aimed at me, it’s pointed towards her. She keeps her chin tilted up, because she’s a rider. I don’t think she realizes whose territory she’s marching into.  
Sean Kendrick knows. He’s gone still except for his eyes, like a horse who’s heard the distance step of a predator. He keeps behind Kate and a little to the side. If things start to boil, he can get between her and the crowd, but he won’t be much good one handed. I assess the crowd again. It won’t reach that point tonight. They’ve got to justify themselves first.   
So it’s a tense but quiet wait as Connolly stands in line. Ian Privett signs up. He’ll keep going ‘till one race kills him. Not because he loves the horses or anything like that; but because he keeps trying to prove the wrong thing the wrong way. Ake Palsson signs up, and I’m very much glad I’m unknowable in this crowd. I think he’s got a similar problem to Privett.   
At last, it’s Connolly, and Peg Gratton isn’t happy. She stands looking over the counter like St. Peter at heaven’s gates. I slide forward through the crowd so I can just catch what she’s saying. Thankfully everyone else seems to have the same curiosity and talk fades to a few low conversations.   
“You’re sure?” Peg Gratton asks. It’s not her decision and she doesn’t get a say.  
“Of course,” Connolly puts the entrance fee on the table. Kendrick has moved back, out of the way because this isn’t his show. “Kate Connolly,” Connolly says, “And Tern.”  
I don’t know the horse she’s talking about, but it must be a monstrosity because even Peg is surprised. The rest of the shop goes silent, and I wonder if everyone’s feeling as suddenly queasy as I am. Now it’s not just me watching carefully as Connolly and Gratton have a sort of staring contest. Finally, Peg turns, and writes Connolly’s name on the top of the board. She hasn’t given in she’s just taken a non-verbal rain-check on an argument. Kate tilts her chin higher.   
Then she turns and taking Sean’s uninjured hand, leaves the shop. Another rider steps up to face Peg, but I don’t bother seeing who it is. The ground is far too still beneath my feet, the crowd much too close. I’ve seen more than enough. Holly probably already knows anyway. He probably even knows which uisce Kate’s riding. I turn around but can’t see the door of the shop. Instinctively I look up, but even the stars have abandoned me. And now my chest is stiffening, tightening, and soon people will be looking. They’ll ask me to speak, and I won’t be able to. I start walking. If I find a wall I can follow it. If–  
There’s a rush of cold air and I bolt towards its source, and out the door. The world outside is black and yellow, and then I’m at the quay, clinging to the railing.  
There is my sea.  
I can never be trapped with the sea beside me. My chest starts to loosen, and I’m suddenly aware that my hat is gone. I fear I’ll have to go back for it when I realize it’s only been tangled in my hair and the hood of my slicker. I don’t put it back on, just let it dangle in my hands over the dark water.   
I’m sleeping on the Melanie tonight. Can’t stand the land any longer.  
“Jennifer Phipps, correct?”  
Benjamin Malvern is too large of a person to have walked up behind me so silently. But he is there. And I am so shocked by the fact that he knows my name that I find myself nodding before I can consider if it’s a good idea or not.   
“You’re the girl who broke Ake Palsson’s nose last year.”  
It’s not a question. I can’t quite see Malvern’s expression in the shadows the streetlamps create, but he seems sadistically pleased with this fact. Nothing about this is good. I turn so the sea has my back and look him straight in the eye as I say,  
“I did more damage to Palsson than that.”   
I think Malvern smiles. Apparently he knows I kneed Palsson in the crotch and nearly broke the man’s elbow, but Malvern doesn’t consider me a threat. He probably knows of the cracked rib I got from that run-in. He probably knows Harrisson now has me on a short leash.   
“Then I believe I have a little business proposition to make you.”  
I run a finger along the nicks in my left ear. If there’s one thing I hate more than egotistical men, it’s egotistical men who think they can fit me under their shoes. “What makes you think I’m interested?”  
“You have to be,” Malvern says, “you see, Miss Phipps, I need Kate Connolly to make it to the races without being, shall we say, hindered, by certain citizens who would much rather she didn’t. You, in contrast, need my influence. The power I have with certain people on the mainland.”  
I can’t feel my legs all of a sudden. All that’s there is the railing at my back. I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I know that he’s right.   
He knows something about me that even I don’t. And I can’t breathe again.   
“So you see, Miss Phipps,” Malvern is smiling now, I am certain of it, “You’d have to be mad to refuse.”


	5. Blood

Puck  
I don’t trust Tern quite enough to take him to the cliffs yet. I’d rather be thrown to the sand than off the edge, so we fight the crowds. The beach this morning is equal parts battle and bazaar. Bowler hats are still displaying uisce and some of the braver tourists flirt with the idea of riding.  
Tern keeps his head up, surveying the other horses and a few of the louder riders. Although he appears huge in the stables, he’s actually one of the smaller stallions out here. This makes him reckless. By the time I find a rock that I can mount from, Tern’s actively looking for a fight. I snap the reins down, and press a red ribbon to his nose.   
He snorts, but stills enough that I put the ribbon back in my pocket and mount up. Now am I high enough above the crowd that I can finally see along the length of the beach. It’s a writhing mass of men and horses, like two clashing armies. I resist the urge to look back up at the cliffs, where I know Sean and Finn are. It took the better part of last night to convince them both that they didn’t need to be on the beach today. That it wasn’t worth the risk. But I know the minute I seem to be in trouble, Sean will be down the path, so I’ve got to stay focused. And I’ve got to keep Tern in line too.   
I wish it was Dove beneath me, and that we could head away from the crowds towards the sea. But I don’t trust Tern enough to take him into the water. So I find a short stretch of beach that is mostly clear of other people and riders and make the best use of it I can. Tern’s still obstinate and dying to fight or race, but there’s no room. The crush of men and horses is too tight, and they seem to be going out of their way to hinder me. People aren’t just staring at me, they’re whistling and shouting. I hear a couple people call me Kevin and ask how I’ve been the past three years.   
Then a tourist looses control of his uisce and careens towards me. Tern rears, nearly spilling me and I fight to get him under control and out of the way as the other horse sprint past towards the ocean. It’s the tipping point. Tern is lathered and I can’t even run him in such a cramped space.   
“I trust you more than them,” I say into Tern’s mane. It’s a bad idea, but I lead him to the clear space at the very edge of the surf. Here, there is space enough to run.  
It’s a task to keep Tern in a straight line, I have to keep my iron piece ready in my palm. I have to keep my focus against his magic telling me to just let go and he’ll take me with him. He bucks a little each time I correct him, but the fact is I can correct him. I’m riding a cappall uisce in the October sea.  
Sean is right. This could work. But the tide starts to eat at our tracks and the beach is slowly clearing, taking its noise with it. We are done for today. I dismount and start to lead Tern up the path back to Malvern’s. Most of the riders have already left, but the few remaining give me dirty looks. Tern and I stare back. This is going to work.  
But waiting at the top of the path is a nail in my bubble of happiness. Reporters. They stand at an awkward distance from Sean trying to protect their cameras from the light drizzle native to Thisby, though one lifts his camera to take a quick picture of Tern and me as we get closer. I can tell by their expressions they’ve already tried talking to Sean and haven’t gotten anything out of him. Finn is nowhere to be seen and I realize he was probably required to be a Palsson’s hours ago.   
So it’s just me, Sean and the reporters.   
They are wary of Tern, but not so scared that they don’t try and surround me.   
“Miss Connolly,” The lead one asks, “Is it true you’re racing again?”  
Sean steps up beside me. He gives me a look of silent apology, and traces a letter on Tern’s forehead. I try to stare down the reporters, “No, I just like the look of my name on Gratton’s blackboard.”   
The reporter isn’t certain what to do with that response. No doubt he was looking for a quotable answer. But now the taunting from this morning is drowning my success with Tern.   
“Are you surprised that no other women have followed your attempts to integrate the races?” The second one asks.  
Something in me starts to boil. They’re here not because I won last time I raced, but because I’m a woman. It always comes down to that with men. I can ride an uisce better than most and I’m still just my gender. “I raced for myself last time,” I insist, “To save my house and my horse. Same with this time. I don’t have a political agenda.”   
This gets the reporters scribbling. “And is it correct you’re riding a, “ The reporter pauses to check his notes, but he can’t pronouce cappall uisce so he just continues suddenly with “water horses that has killed two previous riders?”  
“Yes, and possibly three reporters,” I snap, “now if you can excuse me, I have to get back to Malvern’s.” I try to force my way past them.  
The reporters scramble, each asking a different question, but Sean whispers something to Tern and the horse gives a low growl. The reporters back up quick.   
“Thanks,” I say quietly.  
“’Course,” Sean replies.   
“Not you, the horse. Couldn’t you have sent them away?”  
Sean gives me a familiar look, the one that says you’re inexplicable. “I tried. They weren’t going anywhere.”  
“I don’t suppose they asked you questions.”  
“Not ones you’d like.”   
Beside me Tern snorts. I agree.

Sean  
After the crowds and the reporters on the first day, Puck and I begin heading to the beach in the morning, right before the first high tide. She puts Tern through his paces, and I watch as she grows more confident. It’s a satisfying culmination to my efforts the past four years. I know a part of her will always fear them, but it’s no longer a hateful fear, it’s a respectful one.   
Tern only throws her once, knocking all the air from her lungs. But instead of lunging for the sea, he just stands there, preening a little, until Puck gets up again, and pulls his head down to look him in the eye. I don’t know quite what happens between them, but Puck gives a breathy laugh then finds a boulder and mounts again.   
I start to bring Corr down. It’s a long walk to the beach, but though I will never ride him again, his leg has healed well enough that it is no longer painful. We wade into the surf together, and I know the sea does him some good. The swelling around his hooves goes down.   
There’s an odd calm to the beach in the morning. A safety that doesn’t bleed into the rest of our days. Without a word, Puck and I fall into a routine of mild paranoia. There’s yet to be any backlash to Puck deciding to race again.   
By the time the night of the Festival arrives, Puck is jumpier than Finn and I’m starting to wonder if this is their plan.  
“Ready?” I ask, walking into the Connolly house. I stopped knocking two years ago, but it still feels a little intrusive. Finn glances up from the floor in front of the woodstove where he’s giving copious amounts of attention to Puffin.   
“I am. She isn’t.”   
I nod, then give Puck’s door a gentle tap.  
“Come in,” She sounds frustrated, which makes me cautious to open the door, but all I find on the other side is Puck trying to tame her hair.   
“I can’t get it going all the same direction,” She mutters. I shrug, and instantly realize that is a very Connolly response. She picks up her brush just to set it down again and twist her hair with her fingers again. “I just figure, if they’re going to make a fuss about me being a woman I might as well look sort of like one.”   
I’m not quite certain how to respond to this. For some reason you do, feels like the wrong answer. It’d be like acknowledging how I can still trace the shape of her figure beneath her bulky sweater, or notice the period cramps she tries to hide from me. But why seems like a stupid response too, because the reason is probably a multitude of illogical ones that make up one semi-coherent one.   
And that not’s what she needs to hear.  
“You look like Puck,” I tell her. And I hope she hears the rest. That Puck is all I ever need her to be. All anyone who matters will ever want from her. Her fingers still and she looks up at me, like she’s searching for something she’s lost. And I don’t know what it is, but I guess she finds it because she smiles, then messes up her hair so it’s in it’s usual reckless state.   
“All right then,” She stands, “Let’s go. I’ve got a parade to get to.” I follow her back into the living room.

There’s something disquieting about being at the riders parade and not signing up. It feels like I have become a different person entirely, or that I have stepped onto a different island. It’s a disturbing displacement of time.  
But not as disturbing as the hostility directed towards Puck. All evening it has been building. Not amongst the tourist, but among the riders and a few islanders. Anger has been rising and I’ve overheard complaints, insults and even a few threats. Seems the island believes that Puck might’ve gotten away with racing last time, but that a second offense is uncalled for.   
I stay close to her throughout the ceremony, waiting until it is her turn to go up. She waits a little, but there’s no advantage to it, so she squeezes my hand one last time and forces her way through the crowd. Climbing onto the stone, she stands in front of Peg Gratton.  
I’m displaced in time again. I’ve seen this before, Puck, stubborn and brave, about to risk her life for the sake of her life. And I’ve heard the response to her declaration to ride.  
“She can’t.” It’s Eaton again.  
Puck raises an eyebrow, “Why not? Because I can ride an uisce and I can race on the beach. I don’t see the problem here.”   
The rest of the riders have gathered around Eaton at the base of the rock, just like last time. Privett and Wilson step onto the lowest boulder, ready to lead her down, or carry her as the case may be.  
Eaton shakes his head, then glances at Carroway next to him.  
“You don’t understand,” Carroway says, “Don’t you see what you’re doing? It’s not just a race and it’s not just you racing. People are watching you, Kate.”   
“People are always watching the races,” Puck has her arms crossed and feet apart, ready to stay planted, “And this is a pointless argument. I will ride.” She uncrosses her arms and presents her hand to Peg. But Privett and Wilson climb the last two steps up on the rock and each take one of her arms.   
I don’t think, just start to run as Puck struggles. Instinctively she kicks Privett in the shin and he takes a swing at her face. Puck lands hard on the boulder and the sudden violence freezes us all. Wilson is staring at Privett who’s looking at his hand in guilt and shock.   
Puck rolls to her knees. With her left hand pressed to her lips, and her head down she looks like a sacrifice for the November sea. But then she stares straight at Eaton and takes her hand from her mouth. Her nose is bleeding.  
“I will ride,” She puts her left hand to the rock, leaving a half-hand print of blood behind. “Kate Connoly, Tern. By my blood.”  
Then she stands and walks past Privett and Wilson and down the rock back to me, ignoring the blood dripping off her chin. The race officials don’t pursue her. They just pick up the shambles of their ceremony and ignore it the best they can. But we all know something has changed. I’m just not sure what.


	6. The Connolly Brothers

Phipps  
I sit on the edge of the quay, left arm wrapped around the railing and feet over the edge. If the fall weren’t that far, and the water not quite so cold and full of flesh-eating horses, I would’ve jumped in already.   
I don’t know why I’m still here.  
Why in the world did Malvern think I could possibly protect Kate Connolly? I’m certainly better than her at fist-fighting but the men of this island aren’t like the ones I know from the ports. Sea-faring men will sooner fight me as flirt with me and I can usually choose with body language alone. But these riders are complicated.   
I was ready for a fight last night, but the minute one of them knocked a punch into Connolly, everyone stopped. And now some barrier has broken, and I don’t know if it means they can start punching, or if they’re limited to sabotage.   
These are ‘civilized’ men. It’ll probably be sabotage. And I don’t think there’s much I can do against that that Kendrick isn’t already doing. That uisce and its rider are safer than most gold.   
This isn’t even any of my business. I should be on the ferry, the sea beneath me and just waiting to turn eighteen and planning where to run to if Malvern’s right. He’s told me I could never run far enough, but I don’t think he knows just how big the sea is. It could swallow me whole.  
Behind me there are hesitant footsteps, and I turn just as someone says, “You were there last night.”   
Finn Connolly regards me like a house cat studies a visitor. From my seat on the ground he looks even taller and thinner than usual, a fishing-pole of a person. There’s flour on his dark sweater that I don’t think he’s noticed, and a bit of it powders the strands of hair closest to his eyes. I don’t think I like him looking at me. It makes me jittery.   
“”Course,” I turn back to the sea so maybe this won’t be so unsettling, “everyone was at the festival last night.”   
“No,” he says, “I mean, you were following us.”  
I’m just about to deny when I can’t help but look at him again. He should be angry but he doesn’t sound it. He doesn’t look it either.   
“Maybe.” Now that I’m looking at him again, my stomach is clenching. But I don’t turn away because it’s not him looking at me that’s scary, it’s that there’s something fascinating about him that I can’t quite place.   
“Why?”   
I think about the truth and know it’s too bulky. So I give him the next closest thing. “I was looking for a fight and figured someplace close to your sister would be a good place to find it.” I stand up. I don’t think Finn Connolly is someone who fights, but he seems to be the person to question, and that’s worse.   
His face isn’t very expressive, but I can see that he’s confused by my answer. I think for a second, that he’s going to ask why I want to fight, but he doesn’t. Instead he says, “Do you think they’ll hurt her again?”   
I glance around, but the rest of the street is practically empty except for a few tourists. “They’re pissed she’s racing. But you saw last night, they can’t fight her outright. They’ll try something sneakier.”   
Finn nods like this is what he expected, and turns. Now he’s just going to walk away, and I very suddenly don’t want that. Because I still don’t know what’s so odd about him but it’s going to keep me up at night it if I don’t find out.   
“I’ll help you,” I blurt out, “Keep her safe, I mean.”   
He tilts his head when he looks back at me. “How?”  
I shrug, “I don’t know. But I’m another set of eyes and ears. If I learn something or you learn something, we’ll tell each other and then we can stop them.”   
He faces me again, considering this and probably me too. I’m used to being assessed, but this time it makes me twitchy. I try to hold my hands and knees still and meet his gaze. Then he nods. “I’m apprenticed at Palssons, but I’ll be at Dory Maud’s too.”  
“I know,” I don’t know why I say this, and I don’t like the startled look he gives me for it. But there’s no back-tracking. “I’ve got a room–“  
“Above the Black Eyed Girl,” he completes, “I know.”   
And if Finn Connolly is capable of smiling I think he is when he turns and walks away. 

Puck  
I’m completing a few cool down laps with Renaissance when one of the stable boys flags me down.   
“You’re brother’s looking for you,” he says when I get within earshot.   
I pull Renaissance into a complete stop. “Where?”   
“Main stables,” McAvoy scuffs one boot into the track, making a line of slightly darker dirt. Most of Malvern’s hired help took some time to warm up to me¬, but most of them stopped staring once they saw I knew my horses. No one has acted this nervous facing me since The Rainstorm Aftermath of three years ago, the allegations of which Sean and I have stopped denying and started ignoring. The fact that McAvoy won’t look at me now is not comforting.  
“Is something wrong?”   
Instead of really answering, he just shrugs, “You’ll have to ask him. I’ll take Renaissance, if’n you don’t mind.”   
I slide off the thoroughbred and hand him the reins. I’m halfway back to the main stable by the time I remember that I probably should’ve thanked him, even if he wasn’t particularly helpful. But that thought’s a fleeting one, and I’m more worried about why Finn would seek me out here. What couldn’t wait the hour or two until I got home?  
But when I walk into the main stable I know what couldn’t wait until this evening. Because it’s not Finn that was looking for me. It’s Gabe.   
He stands an awkward distance from Sean, and I get the feeling they aren’t talking because they’d just be arguing if they did. Gabe’s hair is shorter, and his clothes are neater, but not necessarily nicer. I don’t know anything about his life now except that it’s not interesting enough for letters but is stable enough to send Finn and I money yearly. Seeing him twists something inside me, and I don’t know if I’m overjoyed or angry or possibly guilty. He obvious hasn’t come for a social visit.   
He looks up, and I still don’t know how I feel, but I shout his name and hug him anyway.  
“Where have you been?” I think I am angry, “You said you were going to visit!”  
“I couldn’t get away from work.” It’s a flimsy excuse and he knows it. “But I saw the paper, and well, I figured I’d better come. What happened to your nose?”   
My fingers float up to my face, where last night has left a rather startling bruise, “An accident, it’s fine. What paper?”  
Sean hasn’t moved any closer, but his voice is sudden enough to startle me. It’s worn in a way that Gabe’s never will be, slightly scratched from the beach and disuse. “The mainland paper ran a short article about the return of Thisby’s woman jockey.”   
The memory of the reporters returns with the shock of a flashbulb. “Oh,” I say.  
“I just want to know why, Puck,” Gabe towers over me, disappointed and pleading, “Last time you had to save the house, but what could possibly drive you to race again?”  
I look over at Sean and open my mouth to explain about the horses and our plans, but Gabe cuts me off.  
“Don’t say him. Please.” Gabe says, “There are a hundred different ways you could get the money to start a yard. Hell, if you had asked, I would’ve starved for a month to lend you the money. Why the races? Why are they your solution?”  
Because, they’re fast, I think, because we need this money and this life now. Because riding is something I can do. Because it’s the same risk Sean was willing to face.   
And that’s all true, but the longer I look at Gabe, the more I realize that those reasons are not really why I’m racing. Because the more I look at Gabe, the more I realize that he has become a stranger to this island.   
“Because the races are the island,” I say. Because the minute I saw Sean riding Corr, the uisce got their hooks into me. That nothing matches the races. Nothing makes me feel more alive. I’ve had dreams of hoofbeats and surf. The horses are monsters and yet… and yet…  
“That’s not a reason, Puck” Gabe insists.  
“It is,” I glance desperately at Sean, even if I know he can’t clarify it either “I just can’t explain it to you.”  
“Puck, this race could kill you.” Gabe is no longer pleading.   
“So could the island,” I gesture vaguely around me, “That’s just it. Don’t you get it? The races aren’t supposed to be about tourism or cheap thrills. They’re about the uisce and the island. They’re Thisby.” I think about telling him more. About how the races show me the island from the sea, and anchor me into place with the weight of history. But I don’t. I simply say, “And I love Thisby.”  
My words smack Gabe in the face, and I think for a moment that he’s going to demand I stop avoiding the question, but instead he turns to glare at Sean. “What have you been telling her?”  
Sean’s face doesn’t change but my mouth drops open.  
“This is not his fault.” I say, “He hasn’t done anything, don’t you dare blame him.” But Gabe isn’t listening. He gives me a look that is a mixture of condescending and angry, like I’m being hysterical and naïve. Then he begins to walk away. “Come talk to me when you’re being rational.” he says.   
“Gabe!” I won’t run after him. He will come back and talk to me. “Gabe!” Except he doesn’t. He just leaves the stables.   
“Dammit.” I say. And I start to cry. 

Sean  
Puck and I sit on the stairs up to my flat, needing to go places but feeling unwilling. It’s been a half hour since Gabe left, and Puck’s cycled from disappointment to anger, back to disappointment. And now silence. Her anger’s more justified than her sadness. She doesn’t owe Gabe any guilt. He can’t walk back into her life and tell her she’s wrong.  
Would my mother do the same thing? She didn’t care to come back when I started racing, or maybe she didn’t know. I don’t even know if she’s alive. I suppose she still is. Life expectancy is longer on the mainland.  
I don’t know what’s more unsettling, trying to imagine my mother coming back, or how rattled Gabe has left Puck.   
“I should go home,” Puck sighs, she sounds like she’s dreading it.   
I shouldn’t say it but I do, “You could stay.”  
“And make him more angry?” Puck rubs at her face. The swelling around her nose has gone down, but there’s a cloud of purple that covers her left cheek. It keeps my anger for Privett at a steady simmer, and I keep thinking of giving him a similar mark.   
“Finn will be there,” Puck says, “He’ll be on my side.” She stands and steps down a stair to face me. I reach out to take her hand.  
“Tomorrow?”   
“Tomorrow.”  
She leaves and I’m left alone in the stairwell wishing I had kissed her goodbye.


	7. 1911

Puck  
Facing Gabe again is every bit as bad as I thought it would be, and then some. I thought Finn would be some assistance, but he’s off in some distracted dream and doesn’t even sense the tension. Or maybe he does, and he’s gone inside his own head to avoid it. I thought he’d be more excited to see Gabe, but instead, he’s acting like Gabe never left.   
We finish a quiet and unsatisfying dinner and I can’t stand it anymore.   
“What are you really angry about?”   
Gabe stops, halfway between the table and the sink with his plate in his hand. “I’m angry that you’re gambling your life again. What are you going to do if you don’t win? What is Finn going to do if you die?”  
Finn looks up at his name, but I don’t think he really sees us. He goes back to coaxing the fire in the stove back to life.   
“Finn will live here, in the house I paid for and work at Palssons with the apprenticeship he went out and got.” I set my own plate and cup in the sink with a little more noise than is necessary. “And if I loose, I go back to working at Malvern’s for another year, then Sean and I get horses from the mainland.”  
“And then what? You get married, start a yard and live happily ever after?” Gabe sets his plate on top of mine and crosses his arms. He towers over me, a sarcastic statue.  
“Why is it so hard for you to believe that I’m happy here?”   
“That’s not what I can’t believe,” Gabe insists, “What I can’t believe is that this is what you think you need to do to get happiness.”   
I think of the beach and Tern. Of the time he threw me just to prove he could, and his ridiculous pride after the fact. Of how riding a cappall uisce on Thisby is like being a bird, or a tree, or the island itself. In a strange way, the races have become a part of that happiness.   
I don’t know what to tell Gabe. I don’t think he’d understand. Then I think about trying to show him, but before I can decide if that’s a good idea or not, Finn finally speaks.  
“What are you most afraid of?” he asks.  
“I’m not afraid,” Gabe says, but as soon as he does, I realize he’s lying.  
“The men or the horses?” Finn stands, and I realize he’s almost as tall as Gabe now. Not as broad, but almost as tall.  
“What does it matter? They could both kill her! And I didn’t say I was afraid. I said I was angry.”  
“Tern isn’t a problem,” I interrupt.   
“Not a problem? One of the men at the hotel said that uisce killed two men and broke Kendrick’s arm.”   
I prickle a bit, “So? He’s proud, but he’s fast and we’ve come to an agreement.”  
“Puck, he’s a monster, not some sort of narcissistic businessman.”  
“Don’t you think I know that?” I demand. I’m yelling now, and I suddenly wonder if that makes me hysterical. But I don’t think I care. “Do you know how many people I know who’ve been killed by uisce?” My brain catches up with my mouth and I slam to a halt. I don’t know how I’m going to describe it, but I try anyway. “They terrify me. But, you’ve never ridden one, Gabe. It’s like, realizing you have a heartbeat, and it’s the island’s.” I can see him struggling to piece together the puzzle of words I’ve given him, and it softens him. But before he can say anything to ruin this, I push on, “but Tern won’t be a problem. I can control him.”  
“Then what about the men?” Gabe asks, and he’s no longer angry. Finn was right. “Privett already hit you.”   
I turn on the tap to keep my hands from drifting to my face. “I don’t know.”  
“If a water horse can’t be a person,” Finn asks, startling us all. He’s staring into the little fire he’s started, and it makes his face all red and blotchy. “Can a person still be a water horse?”  
Gabe and I both stare at him, but he doesn’t offer any more information about this incongruous question. Instead, he moves suddenly, grabbing more wood for the fire. “I wouldn’t worry too much about the men,” he says, “Just keep your eyes open.”   
There’s something he’s hiding, but when I look at Gabe, I see he doesn’t know either. And so neither of us will find out soon. 

Phipps  
I shouldn’t have the gun, but I took it anyway. It’s a Remington Rand M1911, American made and mass produced for WWII, with a comfortable amount of kick behind the .45s.   
It’s Harrison’s.  
I found it four years ago, under a seat cushion in the wheelhouse, and blatantly asked him about it. It seemed too small for uisce and pirates only existed on this coast in my fantasies. He’d looked straight back at me and said, “Couldn’t kick the habit.” Then before I could ask more, he held out a hand, and said, “Want to learn to fire it?”   
The ammunition came out of my paycheck of course. But on days when we took only cargo and no passengers, we'd stand on the swaying deck, with a paper target taped between two railing posts. It took me a year before we switched to moving targets, attaching a ball to a rope on the flagpole.   
Shooting taught me to breathe.   
When I left the ferry to help Malvern, I smuggled it out in my blanket. I don’t think Harrison’s missed it. But then, maybe he’s kicked the habit and given it to me instead.   
I didn’t think I’d have to use it.   
Now it’s cold and heavy in my hand as I hurry down the road out of Skarmouth. I hope the men from the bar were too drunk to drive, or that they’re drunk enough to run the car into a wall. I picked up a job as a barmaid at the Black Eyed Girl, figuring I’d at least make money while I was stuck here. And it’s convenient how much drunk men talk.   
I run as fast as I dare through the dark, but they’re already at the Connolly house by the time I get there. They left the car two hundred feet down the road and stumbled up the drive. They don’t go towards the house. It’s not the girl they want.   
I hope the mare makes some noise. That she senses danger and is loud enough that Kate or her brother come out. Though I don’t think Finn would be able to stop them, and I think Kate would only remind them of their purpose. The men won’t stop.  
Cowards. They are too afraid to go after the horse she is riding so they target the one she loves. They think it will break her. I don’t think it will. I don’t want to find out.   
I move slowly now, then settle down onto my stomach in the shadow of the house. I prop the gun up with my elbows and wait. The mud soaks through my pants, but my rubber jacket is impervious. The men climb into the paddock, and I see their knives glinting in the moonlight. There are three of them, all fishermen and racers. All with egos delicate enough to be threatened by a girl barely over five feet tall.   
The mare sees them, and then maybe the knives. Or maybe it’s their sudden movement to grab at her that causes her to whinny. The men nearly stop. There’s a sudden sound from the house, and then the door is thrown open and Kate rushes out barefoot and in a nightgown.  
“Stop! What–“  
There’s more noise from the house, and she’s joined by two people. I recognize the lanky figure of Finn, all joints, and another man it takes me a second to place. Gabriel Connolly. They said he came back three days ago. I don’t think it makes him brave.   
They stand in my way, oblivious. There’s nothing for it. I start crawling, pulling myself forward on my stomach, sliding over the mud. I get clear, and position myself again.   
Kate is pleading with the men, but they’re not listening. Instead they’re spewing bullshit about tradition, and the races, and blood and the island. They’re going to kill that mare. If Gabriel didn’t have his hands on Kate’s shoulder’s she’d have run herself onto their knives already. Finn is glancing around desperately, but he can’t see me.   
I can’t kill these men. Even though they’re stupid, and hateful and shallow. But I don’t need to.  
The ground is still, and the targets aren’t moving. The men stand in profile to me, stark silhouettes in the light of the Connolly’s open door, and the moon. Harrison said there are four very stable ways to fire a gun, but that sitting was useless. He wasn’t a sniper, he preferred to think on his feet. Or his knees. Or his stomach.   
I aim. Breath in. Breath out, and take a button off the leading man’s jacket, the bullet grazing past him. At the sound, the mare whinnies again, and rears, kicking one of the other men in the stomach. Kate lurches forward just as the men start to run. I aim at the hat of the third one, but don’t fire. They’re already gone, and Kate is calming her horse. Gabe starts down the road towards the men, but I hear the car fire up, and know he won’t catch them. Only Finn stays where he is, except he turns around and stares into the darkness as if he can see me. And maybe he can. I get up slowly, and leave.  
The next day he finds me on the cliffs, and hands me the shattered fragments of a button. He doesn’t say anything at all.


	8. Ultimatum

Sean  
Puck doesn’t show up at Malvern’s that morning, so I set out to find her. It’s unlikely but not impossible to find her sick, but it would have to be a very sudden and fierce fever that could keep Puck off a horse right now. I reach her house faster than I expect to, my stomach chewing away at itself in worry.  
She’s sitting in the door of the lean-to, wrapped in a blanket, staring straight ahead. Her eyes are red from either crying or lack of sleep or both, and Dove seems reluctant to move too far from her.   
I climb over the fence, and walk across the paddock to crouch beside Puck.   
“They came after Dove,” Her voice is rough, like the thin ice that covers puddles on winter mornings.   
I don’t ask who, because I know it had to be other riders, and that who specifically doesn’t really matter. I don’t ask what either, because when I stand to inspect Dove I see she’s jumpy but unharmed.   
“How did you stop them?” I ask.  
Puck shakes her head, “Somebody with a gun interfered. Hit the jacket of one of them I think.”  
That makes me pause. Not many people on this island have guns, and if they do it’s only in the hopes that deer-shot will stop an uisce. Considering that no one was injured, whoever it was must’ve been firing bullets, not shot. I think Malvern may have a pistol, but I highly doubt he’d show up at Puck’s house in the middle of the night to protect a horse that isn’t his.   
“You didn’t see him?” I ask, “Whoever fired this shot?”  
Puck shakes her head. “I think–it’s crazy, but I think Finn knows something, or has done something, but he won’t say a thing. And…” she trails off.  
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” I complete the thought. Puck nods. She’s watching Dove and Dove is watching her.   
“What if they come back?” Puck asks. I stare at the ground as I consider this. I doubt after nearly getting killed, those men will be interested in trying to attack Dove again. But I don’t think Puck will trust a guess, and I don’t want to put my trust in a stranger with a gun, no matter how accurate his aim. So I come up with two other options.  
“Either take her to Malvern’s, or she can stay at my house.”   
“Malvern’s might be safer,” sighs Puck, and I know she’s imagining asking Malvern for such a favor. And what it could possibly cost her. She’s given too much and I have a crazy idea.  
“Not if I move Corr too.” And now she looks up. “He’s never bothered Dove and they’d have to be crazy to try this again with him around.” Puck looks back at Dove again, as if weighing the possibility of Corr attacking Dove verses the probability of the other riders returning. Except she’s not looking at Dove really, she’s looking almost through her horse to the house.  
“It’s farther,” she says finally.   
“You can visit her whenever.”  
Now her eyes are back on me, and she says, “And will you be there too, Sean Kendrick.”   
“If it wouldn’t be an intrusion,” I say, because I might as well move into my father’s house now too, since I can’t do much at Malvern’s. I try keeping my voice nonchalant, hiding the image flashing across my brain of Puck in my stables, eyes sleepy with the morning as she brushes Dove down. There are other daydreams tucked behind that and I shove them out of mind before they can surge forward. I know where they lead.   
When Puck stands I realize she’s in her jacket and nightgown, her feet sockless in her boots. The blanket is the only thing really keeping her warm. “I’ll get dressed then and ride her over there.”  
“Should I wait, or get Corr?” I ask.  
“Get Corr,” she says through a yawn. I wonder how much she slept last night. I don’t think she’s eaten. She starts to head towards the house.  
“And breakfast and tea,” I add, and she stops to give me a grateful look, before heading into the house and closing the door.   
Beside me, Dove shifts and turns her head to look at me.   
“I’m trying,” I say, “But there’s only so much I can do.” 

Puck  
I go to the beach for the next three days, just to show them I’m not scared, then I start heading for the cliffs. Tern gets a little more belligerent, but I think it’s only because he hates heights. As long as it keeps us farther from the edge, it’s fine with me. Sunday passes, and I sit on the cliffs with Sean and watch the racing with a stopwatch in my hand. Privett is fast. Tern might be faster.  
The Malvern Auction wastes an entire morning. I ride horses for men rich enough to buy most of Skarmouth. Sean’s cast can’t fit in his suit-coat sleeve.   
I start getting up early enough to bike over to Sean’s before I’m needed at Malvern’s. The first morning, Sean stumbles in while I’m brushing Dove down and leans against the open door of the stable. His hair is still mussed by his pillow, and the sun shines through it turning it the color of dust. His cast isn’t in a sling, and he pulls one shoulder up against the weight.  
“I can do that,” he says.  
I have to stop looking at him, because I feel if I keep looking I’m never going to stop. “I want to,” I say. I think he nods, because he walks off and return in a few minutes with his jacket and sling, and starts tending to Corr. He doesn’t say anything more.  
I fall into a steady pattern, until suddenly it’s four days until the races, and Finn’s putting dinner on the table, and someone knocks on the door. It’s not Sean’s gentle tap–not that he knocks anymore–and I hesitate before answering the door.   
Malvern stands on our steps. I spook backwards at the unexpected sight of him, then stand up as straight as possible. He doesn’t intimidate me if I don’t let him.   
“Good evening,” he says, “Mind if I come in for a moment?” But he’s already moving past me into the warmth of our kitchen. I shut the door behind him, and try not to grimace as Gabe and Finn stare.   
Gabe recovers quickest, “Tea?” he asks.  
“No, I’ll only be here a moment,” Malvern says, “ I just came to inform your sister that I’ve found a replacement for her that will take over in December.”   
“What?” The word slips out of my mouth before I can think about it, “You found another trainer?”  
“Two actually, since Daly will be promoted soon,” Malvern takes a letter out of his pocket. When he hands it to me, I can see the official looking print, “After all, you and Kendrick were planning on leaving after the races anyway.”  
“But–“ Our plans only hold if I win, and Malvern knows this. I feel like the floor is dropping out from under me.   
“I’ve already informed Kendrick.” Malvern starts towards the door, “Good luck in the races, Miss Connolly, and good night.” 

Sean  
I lie in bed that night with the letter glowing white on my dresser. I suppose I should be relieved. The other shoe has fallen so to speak. And no matter what happens on race day, I will no longer work for Malvern. I will be free of him.   
Yet I cannot sleep.   
Somewhere out in the yard there is a soft noise, and I still. It didn’t sound like the wind. The stable door creaks ever so slightly on its hinges, and I spring from bed and run out of the house without shoes. Then when I am halfway across the yard, Corr makes a low noise of greeting, and someone clicks their tongue in response.   
I slow. It’s just Puck. I return to the house and find socks and my boots, then put on my jacket. When I get to the stable she’s currying Dove in the aisle, her back towards me.   
“You all right?” I ask, she sighs, and turns to me, her face yellowed by the lights and her hair darkened.  
“Just thinking,” she says, “and couldn’t sleep.”   
Finding a spare box, I pull up a seat. Behind me in his stall, Corr greets me. There is silence for a few moments until Puck says, “What are we going to do if I don’t win?”  
“Get by,” I tell her, “And catch another cappall.”  
“To race or train and sell?”   
I hadn’t considered selling, but I realize now that she could have something in that. I wonder how much a rider would pay to for a water horse trained by Puck and I. “Depends on the horse.”   
Puck nods.  
“But I also think,” I continue, “That you have a better chance of winning than not.”  
“It’s the races,” she replies, “anything can happen.” Good and bad but she doesn’t add that and neither do I. We’ve got a few days. We’ve got all night.   
Dove paws at the ground, starting to fidget. She at least, wants to sleep. Realizing this, Puck apologizes quietly, and puts Dove back in her stall. We walk back towards my house.  
“Are you heading home?”  
“No.”  
There’s a double bed in my parent’s bedroom, but the room itself is large and bare and drafty. I starting going through the drawers there a few years ago, and haven’t finished. It’s a space that would consume me. Puck and I are a mess of sharp joints and sheets in my single bed. It’s warmer that way.


	9. Chapter 9

Puck   
The next morning is a Sunday, and I wake too late to head back home before church. If I hadn’t just woken up next to Sean I might’ve been tempted to skip, but this close to the races I probably shouldn’t procrastinate on atoning to my sins. So I put back on the sweater and pants I was wearing last night figuring that it should smell enough like horses to make most people think I’d been up early and working.   
I bicycle into town sooner than I had expected, and consider stopping by Fathom and Sons. It’s possible one of the sisters might be able to lend me something nicer to wear, and in the least I can see if Dory has sold any teapots lately.   
I walk my bicycle down the narrow street by Fathom and Sons, only to encounter Joseph Beringer and Eli Colborne smoking cigarettes and leaning up against the walls. They’re pissers, both of them. Normally I’d walk past Beringer’s taunts, but Eli’s got a solid amount of muscle and when he steps into the street there’s no way I can just brush past him.   
“Puck Connolly, aren’t you supposed to be dressed for church?” Joseph drops his cigarette and scuffs his shoes over it.   
“Aren’t you supposed to be hitting your head against the brick wall?” I ask. I step closer to Eli to see if he’ll move out of the way, but he just crosses his arms.   
“Places to be?” he asks.  
“Yes,” I insist.   
Beringer leans back against the wall, one arm crossed over he chest. “Hey, Puck,” He says casually, “ does Sean like sleeping with someone who’s got bigger balls than him? I mean, I always knew he was a faggot but–“  
I whirl on Joseph, gripping my handlbars hard enough that it hurts, but I’m not sure what to say. It’s one thing for them to attack me, but to go after Sean–  
“I know you’ve never seen one before, but I am a girl, Joseph Beringer.”  
“You sure?” rumbles Eli behind me. And there’s something so deeply menacing in those words. It somehow implies we could check. I tilt my head up and step back. But Joseph grabs the front tire of my bike. I thinking about abandoning it with the rest of my pride and simply running when a new voice says,   
“That she’s got bigger balls than both of you? Hell I’m sure.” There’s a girl leaning against the front of the pawn shop in a mirror of Beringer’s earlier position. She can’t be much bigger than me, swamped in a men’s collared shirt, with her blond hair tied in a bun. There are so many scars along the edge of her left ear that it looks serrated. She’s got a thick mainland accent. “But you know what I say about big balls. Bigger targets.” The girl stops leaning, and takes a step towards us. “You wanna let go of her bike?”   
“Now who are you?” Joseph asks. He sounds like he’s talking to a child.  
“Trouble,” says the girl, and her left fist connects with his jaw.   
They grab at her, and everything is fists and flying feet. I drop my bike and scramble forward, thinking that I have to stop this before they kill her. Beringer rolls aside with a cry of pain, curling into a ball, and Eli slams the girl down to the pavement. There’s blood running out of her nose and a cut over her eye. Her hair is loose. She keeps her head up the first time and drags at his ear, scratching his face with her fingernails. I grab Eli’s coat and pull, but it doesn’t do a thing. He takes a free hand and slams it down on her forehead. Her head connects with the ground and she goes limp, dazed.   
“Hey!”   
Eli looks up, and takes off, away from the entrance of Fathoms and Sons and back into the streets. When I turn, Joseph is gone too, and then Gabe is pulling me up and Finn is beside me, his eyes almost bigger than his head.   
“What the–“ Gabe spins me around, checking frantically for damage, but I just keep staring at the girl. And Finn, who somehow ignores the blood all over her and helps her to her feet. She sways a little, closes her eyes, and curses.   
“Dory’s” Gabe says, “Now. Come on.”   
We leave my bicycle and take the girl. 

Phipps  
I am half led, half carried inside a crowded shop, then dragged up a narrow set of stairs. I’ve got a dull ache in my head that reaches a painful point at the very back of my skull and I seem to have lost my land legs. There’s much less light here than outside, but it still stabs at my eyes. So I keep them closed and stumble along.   
I’m pulled into a small bathroom and someone slams the toilet seat closed and lowers me onto it. Then there are hands and damp towels, under my nose and against my right eye. I open my left eye and catch a blurred glimpse of a rather stout woman before the light over the sink overwhelms me again. I claw the washcloths free of the woman’s hands and hold them in place myself, lowering my head. Then I lean against the back of the toilet and curl into a ball. My stomach throbs from where something–a fist or knee–slammed into it. My head hurts. It’s too damn loud in here.  
I’ve been better. But of course, I’ve been very much worse.  
Slowly I adjust to my current level of pain, and I hear Kate trying to explain what happened. She’s upset, but not sad upset. Angry upset. Then someone demands “who’s this?” and I know they’re gesturing at me.   
I uncurl and force my eyes open. The lights are still too bright, but they are mostly hidden behind the bulk of Gabriel Connolly and this other woman. Dory Maud I think. I open my mouth to say my name but Finn beats me to it.  
“Jennifer Phipps,” he says, and I wonder how he learned my name. Probably the same way I learned his. People on small islands have large eyes and even bigger mouths.   
“You know her?” Kate asks. What’s stranger to her, I think, the idea of her younger brother knowing a girl or that that girl is me, the one who swears and fistfights?  
“I knew they wouldn’t leave you alone,” Finn says, “So I asked her to help.”   
“Help by fighting both Beringer and Colborne at once?” Gabe crosses his arms, and I’d like to knock a tooth out of that over inflated head of his. In ways he’s the least responsible Connolly sibling, but he always acts like he’s the most.   
“It’s better than what they were going to do,” My voice is a little course from the blood in my nose and throat. I don’t bother telling him that I’ve spent years learning how to judge men like Beringer. Sizing them up to know whether I should run or fight. How to dodge their eyes and hands.   
Gabriel is towering over Kate, as if to prove that such great height differences can occur in one family. The bathroom is tiny with all five of us crammed in here, and I’m farthest from the door. My throat starts tightening. My back throbs.   
“What were you doing there alone, anyway?” Gabe continues.  
Make that two teeth.  
“I was coming here.” Kate points at the floor to prove her point.  
“And you obviously didn’t come home after you left last night,” Gabe says, “Where were you?”   
To Kate’s credit, she doesn’t bother to hide. “Sean’s.”   
“Sean’s? All night.”   
“No, I stopped in at Buckingham too, the Queen gives her regards. Yes all night.” Kate is completely red in anger, and Gabe is a similar color, just paled by his hair. Leaning against the sink, Dory Maud looks on with serious interest, as if she didn’t already know that Kate Connolly and Sean Kendrick have been sleeping together. Finn meanwhile has gone still, like the tension around him has stretched out in a tightrope for him to balance on. But he’s not looking at his siblings. He’s looking at my left hand as I clench it. There’s almost no air left in the room.  
“Kate. You can’t just–“ Gabe begins.  
Make that two missing teeth a black eye and “Gabriel Connolly,” I startle them both. “Considering where you’ve slept, I’d stop fucking talking.” I stand up, and throw a hand out against the wall to steady myself and dropping the washcloths on the floor. I need to get out of this room, and I’ll fight him if that’s what it takes. But there’s a slip of space towards the door, and I could just run for it. But I don’t want them following, so I look Gabe dead in the eye and say, “at least her lover isn’t married.”   
I walk out of the room, and nearly fall down the stairs. But I tell myself that my eyes are just deceiving myself, and so I ignore the dizziness and run. The pain in my stomach spreads. There’s someone behind me, but I turn a corner and see the docks, spread out below me, and I’m safe. Despite the throb in my head and the turmoil in my stomach.  
“I don’t think–“ My follower says, but he’s interrupted when my stomach and head decide they’ve had enough. I lose my balance and between one moment and the next, I have crumpled beside the wall of one building and vomited.  
“…you should be running.” Finn completes, but it’s useless advice now. I stand before he can help me and continue walking, slower now. There’s a half-sunk pier at the edge of the docks and I walk past the fisherman and out onto it. The panic should be gone now. But it’s still there, shaking my heart and telling me to run. Maybe it’s still here because I know I deserve it now. I’ve broken Harrison’s one rule. Finn Connolly stands behind me and I just blackmailed his brother. I just got the shit beaten out of me for a girl I don’t know. I’ve broken Harrison’s one rule.   
“Where are you going?” Finn asks. I stand on the tilted edge and stare into the water, high tide and two feet beneath me.  
“Somewhere quiet. But only for a moment.” I step off the edge.  
And it’s so cold I think my heart stops. I gasp once, then go under again and just float below the surface, filling my mouth with salt water to get rid of the taste of vomit. The sting of my cuts is lost in the tingling of the rest of my body. Water so cold that it burns. I stay there until I desire air, and then I stay a little longer.   
When I pull myself onto the dock, Finn Connolly is staring at me with either horror or fascination or maybe both. The air feels colder than the water so I don’t stop. I’m still dizzy, and shivering isn’t helping the pain in my head, but there’s a strange comfort in knowing that I did this to myself. I head back to the Black Eyed Girl. Finn Connolly doesn’t follow.


	10. Chapter 10

Sean  
When I get to the cliffs over the beach, Puck isn’t there, but George Holly is. He stands with his hands in his pockets looking uncomfortably cold as the wind cuts straight through his thin sweater. It’s so strange to see him unhappy that I almost don’t approach him, but he sees me first and waves me over.   
“Have you seen Kate yet?” Holly asks.  
“Early this morning,” I say hesitantly. “Did something happen?”  
“Yes, but she’s fine,” states Holly, and I know instantly that she is not fine. He tries to correct himself by saying, “I don’t know for certain but rumor– ah there she is.”   
I turn to see where he’s looking, and there is Puck, marching forward, her gaze slaughtering the onlookers. Finn trails behind her like a hesitant puppy.  
“Sorry,” and although I know she means it, there’s enough bite in her voice that I could be convinced she didn’t. “It’s been a terrible morning.“   
“I heard,” Holly says, “That you had a minor run in with Joseph Beringer and Eli Colborne.”  
“It only ended in a fist fight,” Puck crosses her arms. And when she sees the alarm across my face she continues, “not me. I tried walking away and they weren’t having that. So this girl Finn apparently knows punched Beringer in the face.” All eyes go to Finn Connolly, who stares at the ground and picks at a run in the arm of his sweater.   
“Who?” I try to imagine any woman I know punching Joseph Bering in the face, and the only two I can think of are Peg Gratton or Dory Maud, and Puck knows those women better than I do.   
Puck shakes her head like she still can’t understand and says, “Jennifer Phipps.”   
Next to me Holly nods very slowly. “Harrison is not going to be happy.” But it’s a first impression, and not a statement meant for us to comment on. Holly assesses Finn Connolly, and something of his old boyish curiosity returns. “You, know Phipps.”  
Finn glances up at Holly then immediately looks away. There must be something consuming his mind, or he’d be very talkative in Holly’s presence.   
“Who is she?” Puck asks.  
Holly shrugs, “A foster kid always running towards the sea. And when she’s on the ferry, one of the most practical and capable woman I know. But…” he falters.  
“She’s an uisce.” Finn says quietly.   
Holly breaks into a sad smile, “Yes. And I think enough terrible things have happened to her on land that she can’t help but act in a way that makes her feel like she deserves them.”   
“She jumped in the harbor this morning”  
“Just as long as she came back up for air.” Holly turns then, back towards the racing beach effectively dropping the subject. I can tell neither Puck nor Finn is done, but they don’t try for more information. We watch the horses instead.  
Below us are several uisce that challenge Tern for speed and beat him for height. If it were simply a matter of how fast the horse was, I’m not sure Puck would stand much of a chance. When I look at her, I see she knows this. I am suddenly seared with the deep wish that I could give Corr to her for this. That he could still race.   
I have to remember it’s not just speed, but control. Puck can control Tern, or at least, keep him running in a straight line and far from fights. Four years ago, she won on Dove. Tern is faster. Except she won on Dove because I was able to guard her shoreward side. Because I let the piebald attack me.   
I not seeing the beach below me anymore. I’m seeing the red streak of my father’s body. I’m falling off Corr into the surf. I’m standing far up on the cliffs watching Puck bitten and trampled.   
I could loose her in three days. Permanently. I tell myself I’ve known the risk all along, but now it’s coming to a boil. I tell myself that there’s no Mutt this year. But that isn’t a comfort when I know none of the men down there want her on that beach. That even Beringer, who isn’t racing, doesn’t want her on that beach. Last time someone cut her leg. This time, they could kill her. And everyone would say that was the races. Death happens.   
“You okay?” Puck asks. She’s very real beside me. Very warm.   
“You don’t have to risk this,” I tell her quietly, “They didn’t like you on the beach the first time. This time is worse.”   
“I know,” Puck watches the horses below. “But I’m racing. I think it’s worth it.”  
“I can’t–“ But the rest of those words get caught in my throat.  
“You won’t.” Puck grips my hand, “I’m tougher than that.” 

Phipps  
Someone knocks on my door, very politely. The first time I don’t really hear it, just lay in bed wondering what woke me up. The second time, I slide out of bed and wrap a blanket around myself.  
Finn Connolly is at the door, and I don’t like it. He looks mildly concerned, but that just might be his normal face. I expect him to ask to come in and I’m dreading that. Already I’ve spent too much time with him, and it’s making me feel guilty.  
“Are you okay?” he asks.  
I do a quick assessment of myself. My head still aches lightly, but I’m steadier on my feet now. The light isn’t so bad either, or maybe it’s just dark here anyway. “Yeah.”  
“Good. Dory Maud said Dr. Halsal told her people with head injuries might deteriorate over time.” He assesses me again, and I think of telling him that I’ve been deteriorating for a very long time, just very slowly, so of course he wouldn’t see, but before I decide whether that would be a good idea or not, he continues with, “Dr. Halsal also said those people shouldn’t sleep for a while.”   
I shrug at that, “I always sleep. I get better faster that way.”   
Finn’s brow furrows. He doesn’t like the idea of disobeying a doctor’s advice, but he says, “Fine,” then turns to leave.   
“Hang on,” I say before I can stop myself, “You came up here just to make sure I was alright?”  
“Yes.”  
“That’s it?” He pauses, halfway down the hall, so very confused. And it’s obvious in his face that he really did walk across Skarmouth to make sure I wasn’t dying. “Never mind.” I say, “Thank you.”   
I close the door and lean my forehead against it. For some reason I’m thinking about crying. I don’t know why Finn Connolly would be so nice to me. But then he’s probably that nice to everyone. And I know for certain that someday someone is going to take advantage of that and hurt him, and that said person might accidentally be me now.   
I wonder if he’s ever made a mistake in his entire life. If he’s ever made another human unhappy. And I think about him standing in the hall, and remember the last conversation I had with a boy in a back corridor and I think I should go tell him everything and go back to the mainland.   
There’s another knock on the door.   
I shove all my thoughts to the back of my head. “Yes?”  
He picks at the cuffs of his sweater, “I really– you shouldn’t be sleeping. That’s what Dr. Halsal said, and Dory Maud said… well, do you mind coming back to the bakery with me. Just until we’re sure you’re not too badly hurt?”  
He’s got surprisingly blue eyes for his dark hair. I’m a cappall drowning an angel.   
I nod, I don’t have a choice. “Let me get dressed.” 

We sit on the back steps of Pallson’s and eat rolls too burned to sell. While most of the bread is heavenly, the bottom has a texture like wood. I pull it into little pieces and eat it slowly. Finn crumbles his. I don’t think he eats much of it at all.  
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I don’t mean to ask it so bluntly, but then, I didn’t mean to ask it at all.  
Finn however, doesn't look offended, only confused. “Because you’ve helped my sister.”  
“Yes, but I’m not doing that for you.” I think of Malvern and his blackmail. I don’t know if this is a useful endeavor or not. Probably it isn’t. I don’t think even he has enough prestige to save me now.   
“I know,” is all Finn says. He is surprisingly calm about this. But then, I’m beginning to realize that displaying emotion is not his status quo.  
“You knew about Malvern?”  
“No, but I knew you weren’t following us just for a fight. You seem capable of finding those without us. Why? What has Malvern done?”  
“Nothing. Yet,” I stare at the blank wall opposite us. I try to count all the similar walls that I have been thrown against in fights. All the ones I have hidden behind. I fail. “It’s, well it’s a long story.”  
“I’m on break for another fifteen minutes.”  
He’s not going anywhere, and still I hesitate. If I tell him this now he will leave. Which is good, isn’t it?   
“Fine. I’m a foster kid, see? I never knew my dad. He was RAF and didn’t make it through the last year of the war. That’s fine. I don’t care. But they took me away from my mum when I was seven. She,” I can’t look at Finn, just stare at the wall until it blurs. “They had to put her in therapy, you see, and I couldn’t go as well, so they put me in a home. But rather than just be bullied, I started fighting so they starting moving me around and… I got a bit of a reputation. And now they won’t let me go at eighteen unless they think I’m stable. Sane, you know? And Malvern claims they won’t unless he helps me. Because he’s rich and old and persuasive.”  
“But if your mother is still alive, can they do that?” I’m not looking at Finn, but he doesn’t sound fazed. Not that that means anything.  
“She’s not alive,” I close my eyes then. “She died two years ago.”   
“How?”  
“Herself. They wouldn’t tell me the rest. Just babbled about how they fucked up, thinking she was getting better.”  
Finn is silent for a long time, and I wonder if he’s Catholic. He probably is. That's the only type of church I’ve seen on this island. And I wonder if I’m darkening in his eyes, piling sin on sin, and there’s so much he doesn’t know.   
“So, the last time you saw her you were seven?”  
He can’t be asking because he knows, but he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t, would he?   
“No. I visited her once two and half years ago.” I say. Finn just nods. And suddenly his calm is killing me. His inscrutable nature. I stand. I’m going back to the docks, or the Black Eyed Girl. I haven’t been drunk in a while. “Why are you still here?”  
“On the island?”  
“No. Here, listening to me. Why are you paying any attention to me?” You who has probably never had a decent reason to go to confessional.   
“I told you. You helped Puck.”  
“So? Doesn’t mean you have to spend time with me. You could just pay me. Or send a small gift. Why this? Why would you spend time with me?”   
“I don’t understand.”  
“People might begin to think we’re friends or something and you don’t want that.”   
“Why not?” And he almost looks confused. Like in his head we were already friends.  
“Because I hurt people.” I can’t believe I’m explaining this, “I fight people. I swear always, and drink occasionally, and have stolen things twice. Fuck, I only got to visit my mother that once because I slept with a stranger for a train ticket. And you–”   
Now I have his attention. Now I can sense his surprise, and it’ not what I want. Because it’s him hurting a bit, smarting like a slap. But it’s for the best I think. Because I don’t know how the world forgot to teach him that it’s cruel, but I think it’s best he learn slowly.  
“And you– You know what? No,” I tell him, “Don’t respond to that. Don’t think about it. It and I are not worth your time.” I don’t give him a chance to refute. I just walk away as quickly as I can without running.

Sean  
It takes me all afternoon, but I finally find Jennifer Phipps on the farthest dock of the quay. She sits on the very edge of it, looking down at the receding water as it gets farther from her boots. The dock itself is crumbling away, so I walk gingerly out to where she is. I expect her to ask how I found her, or what I want, but she just says, “Everything I told him was true.”   
Her voice comes from the back of her throat, like she’s trying not to cry. I hesitate, hands in my pockets, then ask, “Who?”  
“Never mind.” She pulls at her left ear, the one that’s scarred. “What do you want?”  
Puck Connolly and a yard of my own, I think, but instead I answer her question with another. “Will they give up on stopping her now?”   
Phipps sighs, “No. Not until the races are done.”  
I knew the answer of course, but I had hoped that the beating Beringer and Colbourn took this morning would make them think twice before attacking Puck again. Phipps looks up at me.  
“They won’t attack her before the race itself,” she says, “She’s a girl. That’s forbidden.”  
“But Beringer–“  
“Haven’t you been paying attention?” Phipps says, and her voice bites now. It’s serious. “That wasn’t about the races. He attacked her because he can’t fuck her any other way.”   
I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I’ve heard the phrase “mouth like a sailor” but never imagined something this vulgar. I think of quiet, meek Finn and wonder how in the world he ever ran across a girl like this.   
“Sean,” Phipps says, when I don’t answer. “Kate will be fine until the race. But I don’t know a damn thing about horses, so I’m fucking useless once she’s on that beach.”   
I don’t remember admitting what I wanted. That I needed some guarantee that Puck would survive the race itself. But that is not something that can ever be given.   
I reassess the girl in front of me. She’s brasen, certainly. “You’re good at reading people.”  
“And you’re good with horses,” she stands. “Humans learn fast to survive when they need to.”   
She stalks off, feet sure on the uneven stones beneath her, another child forced to survive. Except I’m don’t believe she’s happy with what she’s learned. 

I head back to Puck’s because I don’t want to be anywhere else. The sun has dropped into the sea and it’s getting dark fast, but I know this road. I have walked it almost as many times as I’ve ridden it.   
Puck is sitting on the front steps staring at the mud of the yard when I arrive. She waves me over, and says quietly, “Finn’s cleaning.”   
“What’s wrong?”  
Puck shrugs. “I don’t know. I just know that here is the only place I’m out of the way.”   
Sitting onto the steps next to her, I wrap my uninjured arm around her shoulders. “I found Phipps,” I tell her, “To ask if they were done trying to stop you. But the first thing she said to me was ‘everything I told him was true.’”  
“Did she say who, or what?”  
“No.”  
Puck considers this, eyebrows lowered, but she doesn’t say anything else about it. Instead she simply asks, “Have you had dinner yet?” and when I shake my head, she stands. “C’mon. Let’s go brave the kitchen.”


	11. Chapter 11

Puck  
It’s so dark the morning of the races that for I moment I’m not even sure it’s day. But the clock in the kitchen reads five twenty, so I start to get ready. Finn stumbles out of his bedroom and stares at the rain. We can hear it on the roof.  
“Maybe it’ll lighten up,” I say, hopefully.  
“It won’t.” He’s very certain. We stand there for a few moments. I try to picture the beach in this weather and flinch. Killing Sands, Sean said once.   
There’s a small knock on the door, barely audible over the storm. Water drips off Sean’s hair. The shoulders of his coat are black instead of faded blue.   
He’s looking at me, eyes less narrow than usual. “I–“ And he hesitates, “It’s just rain,” he says suddenly. “Little wind. It’ll be bad, but not suicidal.”   
I nod, and begin packing things together for the race. I step into my room to find something to tie my hair back with, and Sean follows me.  
“I don’t want you on that beach today,” he says quietly.   
I stop with the trunk at the end of my bed open. I don’t remember what I was looking for. “I know,” I say. And for a moment I imagine what would happen if I didn’t race. How many years would it take Sean and I to build up the money to buy horses from the mainland? Without working at Malvern’s, maybe never. We could trade in uisce but there was no guarantee anyone would buy, and I cringe at the thought of being a bowler hat.   
Bad, but not suicidal. Well, I want this bad. I think of the speed of Tern beneath me. Of the wordless agreement I have with that horse.   
“But I’m racing.” I say. Sean nods like he expected this. I find a hair tie in the bottom of my trunk and start pulling my hair back.   
“Do you want me to braid it?” Sean asks.   
“Can you?” I ask, glancing at Sean’s cast. Dr. Halsal won’t take it off until next week.  
Instead of answering Sean sits on the edge of my bed. I sit on the floor by his feet and close my eyes as he runs his fingers through me hair. He’s clumsier than usual with one hand in a cast, but he finishes the braid and I hand him the tie. Then I sit up on the bed beside him. We have to head over to Malvern’s to get Tern, but neither of us wants to leave yet.   
“Puck,” Sean says quietly. He reaches over to lift my wrist, the one with the ribbon on it. He begins to untie the bracelet, and I let him. He pulls another ribbon from his pocket, and I have to help him tie it. It’s the white of clouds on days it doesn’t rain. “Promise me you’ll live. You don’t have to win. Just live.”   
“I promise,” I say, although that’s the one thing I can’t promise.   
Sean nods and leans back, so he’s laying horizontally on my bed, with his legs hanging over the side. I lie next to him and we stare at the cracked plaster of the ceiling.   
“We’ll get those horses, Puck.” Sean says. “Marry and start a yard.”   
When I tilt my head to look at him, he’s still watching the ceiling. “Of course.”   
Sean still isn’t looking at me, but I can see the smile creeping across his face. He shifts ever so slightly. “So it’s official.” He says, and his right hand finds my left hand. He presses something into my palm.  
I sit up so fast the ring nearly rolls off my palm. “Sean Kendrick! How–“ It’s a dainty thing, a thin band of gold with a single red stone set flush with the band. “How did you–?” I don’t understand how he could possibly have found the money to get an engagement ring, much less a gold one.   
Sean doesn’t answer. He only sits up and gently takes the ring in his right hand and my left hand in his left hand. The plaster of the cast is rough beneath my palm. “I had Finn lend me your mother’s ring for sizing, so it should fit,” he says, but my little brother’s name (and questions of his involvement) roll right out of my head, and all that exists is my hand in Sean’s, and the warmth of the ring he’d hidden in his pocket. I don’t even realize I’m crying until Sean kisses my cheek and then my mouth.   
I kiss him back as hard as I can, pulling him closer every time he moves away. And Sean laughs, an exhaling laugh, then finally puts two fingers to my lips.   
“Come on,” he says, “you have a race to win.”

Phipps  
I only leave my room on race day because it’s raining. Harrison stopped in yesterday and left me some bread and cheese. He didn’t say anything. Just looked at the bruises on my face, took his gun and all my knives and left.   
He’s disappointed. He has to be.  
Outside the rain is cold enough on my face that I feel awake again. I wish I could cry tears this cold.  
“Phipps?”   
George Holly has stopped on the sidewalk. Water falls in heavy drops off his umbrella, and his expression looks like Harrison’s yesterday. My hands drift together behind my back, nails digging into my knuckles. My captain might’ve kept himself from haranguing me, but Holly isn’t one to keep his mouth shut. I don’t think it can be any worse than Harrison’s silence. But it can’t be any better either.  
“Are you all right?” Holly asks.  
I nod. Lies are slippery on my tongue. Just tired. My head still hurts. It’s so dark today. But I don’t say anything.   
“Phipps,” Holly says again, and he walks right up to me and gently pulls my left elbow forward so he can see my hand. “Please don’t do that.” His words are soft, as he looks at the scabs reopened on my knuckles.   
I try to lie again, but I can’t reply. It’s like he doesn’t understand that I don’t have a choice. Every moment I’m left with my thoughts I pick away at scabs. My scars.  
Because there’s something in my mind I can’t tear off.   
Holly lowers his umbrella to the street and pulls a white handkerchief from his pocket. Bending his head, he starts dabbing at my cuts, the blood stains fading to pink as the rain soaks the fabric. I stare at his blond hair, watching as the raindrops ruin its perfection. Then he lifts his head and looks me in the eye so quickly I don’t have time to look away.  
“It takes a long time to convince yourself that despite the horrible things you’ve done, you’re worth loving.” His blue eyes have an intensity I don’t recognize. A desperation that doesn’t belong to carefree, millionaire George Holly. It’s Holly before. Soldier Holly. “Trust me, I know. But I’ll be damned Jennifer Phipps, if you can’t fight this and win.” He straightens, picking up his umbrella. “And we’re starting now.” 

 

Puck  
I leave Tern with Sean and head down to get my colors. I’m fairly certain they won’t give them to me, but… I turn the ring around my finger with my thumb. It’s always worth a try.   
The men at the table watch me as I approach. They don’t even try to hide their disgust, it spreads across their faces like a rash.   
“No,” the one on the right says, even before I open my mouth.   
“Excuse me?” I say, “You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”  
“There aren’t colors for you,” says the one on the left, “you never registered.”  
I shake my head in confusion, “I registered. I paid at Grattons and gave my blood at Rider’s Parade.”  
The official shakes his head, “You signed up at Grattons, but you stepped off the rock before you could officially give your blood. You’re not registered, so no colors.”  
My mouth drops open. A thousand biting replies come to my mind, but I know it won’t do any good.   
“You’re pissin’ me off,” says a voice, and suddenly Jennifer Phipps stands beside me. The rain drips off her hair, darkening it so her face is paler and the shadows under her eyes are starker. She looks like the ghost of someone who drowned. “She gave her damn blood, so shove your fucking rules up your ass.”   
The officials look at each other, but they’re only amused not afraid.  
“Little girl–“ one starts  
“Don’t ‘little girl’ me, you pompous shit-filled bastard. Give this rider her colors or I’ll take them from you. And I won’t be gentle.”  
“Young lady, it isn’t right to swear. It’s a sin.”   
Phipps snorts, rolls her eyes, and promptly climbs over the table. “Swearing won’t be the reason I’m going to hell. Now what color, Connolly? Red?” Phipps waits expectantly. I keep expecting the officials to call for her arrest, but they seem even more surprised than me. And suddenly the situation is no longer frustrating, it’s hilarious.  
“Dark blue, please.” I say.  
“Kendrick’s colors it is,” Phipps says, she begins to dig through the box beneath the table. The left official recovers and grabs her arm to stop her but she just elbows him in the neck. He retches.  
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Phipp’s voice is scalding, “did I hurt you? Touch me again, fucker, and I’ll skin you. Same for you, you useless bastard.” The second official jerks his hand back.   
Phipps rummages in the box a bit longer, then sets the colors on the table. “Anything else, Miss?”   
I take the colors with a smile, “No thank you.”   
I think for a moment that Phipps is trying to smile, but she looks down and climbs over the table before I can make up my mind. She walks away without looking back and I follow her.   
“Thank you,” I say as we start up the path off the beach.  
“Hey, can’t leave a job unfinished. Holly won’t let me.” She hesitates, then stops to study me. “Honestly, anything else I can do? Sabotage the competitors? Castrate Beringer?”   
I don’t know what to say. I don’t even really know why this girl is helping me in the first place–other than the fact that Finn asked her. Finn. What Phipps could do for me is tell me the truth, but I have the feeling it’s a web too tangled for such a short walk.   
She hasn’t taken her eyes off me, and I can sense she is thinking. “Aw, hell,” She says, like she’s come to a decision. She unbuttons her slicker, and offers it to me. “Stay dry.” She says.  
“I can’t take your coat,” But it remains before me, hanging off an outstretched hand. “I’ve got my own.”  
“Yes, and it’s soaked through. Take it, Connolly. Your fiancé will kill me if you freeze to death. Of course, he’d have to get in line behind your brothers, George Holly, and about half of England, but he certainly would try.”  
I jerk my head back. Sean and I haven’t told anyone, not even my brothers. “How did you–“  
“Know? I have eyes. Now take the damn coat.”  
“I can’t–“  
“I am not above using force, rider.”   
I strip off my wool coat, heavy with water and slide into Phipp’s slicker. I’m not immediately warmer, but water stops trickling down my back. “Thank you. Again.”  
Phipps just shrugs. She holds my jacket, but doesn’t put it on, and I think about what Finn said, about her being an uisce. And he might be right in some ways, but I think it’s mostly just that Phipps has both her feet in the sea. And people keep dragging her back on land. And she’s suffocating, and scratching at anything within reach.  
“Are you ok?”   
Something behind her eyes shudders and cracks. “No,” she says, and it’s strangled. “But I hope… someday I might be.” Then she turns suddenly, and walks away. I’m just about to follow her when someone behind me says, “Puck?”   
It’s Gabe. He stand with his shoulders and collar up against the rain and his hands hidden in his pockets. “Are you ready?”   
“Yes,” I look at him hesitantly. I know he’s going to ask again, why I’m racing. That he needs to ask. But there’s something I need to know too, that I’ve been avoiding, “Is it true, what Phipps said?”  
Gabe’s shoulders sag, “Puck,” he begs.  
“Is it?”  
“Yes. But it was a… long time ago.” He won’t look at me.  
“Is that why you had to leave?” I don’t want him to say yes. But I think it’d be worse if he says no. Because if he says yes at least I can finally understand.   
“No,” he says, then after a pause, “I mean, it was a reason. It wasn’t the reason. I just had to go, Puck.”  
I look up at my brother. He looks so defeated, tired. His hair clings to his forehead, and his shoulders curl inwards against the rain. I remember how he looked the day of my first race. You’d think things would change more after four years.  
“And I have to race,” I tell him.   
He pulls me into a hug. “I know.” When he lets go, he gives me a sad smile. “Just live, please.”  
“I’ll try,” I say. And he nods and starts to head off towards the cliffs to watch, and I’m about to watch him go, when I come to a realization.   
“Gabe!”  
He pauses and turns.  
“I forgive you. For everything.”


	12. Chapter 12

Sean  
I stand on the cliffs and watch the horses line the beach. Holly stands silently beside me, the water from his umbrella dripping onto one of my shoulders while keeping the water from my head. Finn and Gabe stand side by side, wearing identical expressions of worry. The water has turned Gabe’s hair almost as dark as Finn’s.   
A small figure slips underneath Holly’s umbrella. Phipps. She faces both of us, and I feel more than see Finn tense beside me and immediately look away. Probably because Phipp’s isn’t wearing a coat, and the rain has plastered her white shirt to her shoulders and chest. She presents the jacket in her hands to me.   
It’s Puck’s. I take it cautiously.   
“She’s wearing mine.” Phipps says, but when I find Puck on the beach below, I can’t tell what jacket she is wearing. All that’s there is her red hair and the ghost that is Tern.  
Holly nods, and when Phipps turns towards the race, he places a protective hand on her shoulder. We all go silent.   
The poles hit the sand. 

Puck  
Tern surges forward beneath me. Each raindrop that hits my face feels like a stray piece of gravel. I lean down over Tern’s neck, and am shielded slightly from the rain. Around me is the pounding of hooves and the shush of the ocean and the storm. I can barely see, but when I look towards the surf I think Tern is tracking straight.   
We hurtle past another rider, then swerve around two uisce locked in a fight. Visibility is nearly non-existent. I simply have to hope that I am moving away from the fighting in the back of the pack and towards the front-runners.   
On the edge of my vision something dark appears. There’s another rider to my left, and gaining. Tern and I started fast to try and get ahead of the fights, but I had been planning to slow him down in the middle and save some speed for the end. I risk a glance over and see Ian Privett clinging to Penda.  
If I let them pass will I be able to catch up? If I don’t slow down, will Tern be able to keep his speed? I hesitate. Best to stick with the plan Sean and I discussed. If Sean believes Tern can catch up and win, then that’s what we’ll try.   
I sit back a little, and try and slow Tern, but he doesn’t acknowledge me. Instead, he almost picks up speed. I try again, and he flicks his ears and torques he head to catch a glimpse of Penda, and keeps flying forward through the rain. I can’t see the finish line–are we going straight? I try one last time to slow him.   
Nothing.  
I’m loosing control of him. Somehow–the rain. It must be the rain.  
“Tern–“ I scramble for the iron in my pocket, “Tern!”

Sean  
I see it happen slowly. Like it’s a dream. That nightmare of my father pulled from Corr except it’s Puck racing, and this time I won’t wake up.   
Penda’s teeth close around Puck’s shoulder. Ian Privett has lost control, or maybe he just doesn’t care. The rain and distance hide even the outline of his face.   
I wait in the space between heartbeats for Puck to be dragged from Tern. For her to hit the sand where I’m going to loose her forever.  
Puck tilts in her saddle, away from Penda–still trying to get out of reach. Both of her hands clutch the reins now, but it won’t be enough.   
Then Tern leaps, forward and away. Like he did that first day on the sand, trying to knock Puck from the saddle.  
It didn’t work then. And somehow, it doesn’t work now. Puck tears herself free of the uisce’s jaws. Tern darts away, with Puck clinging to him, hunched over her left arm, and close to Tern’s neck. And they’ve started moving again, in real time. The rain and cheers of the crowd pour down on me again.   
And Puck keeps riding, and Tern keeps running. Straight and fast. Ignorant of the rain, and the November sea. Until there’s only one rider in front of her. And three hundred feet to go. 

Puck  
My shoulder is screaming. Pain claws all the way to my wrists and across my chest. I keep my left arm tucked to my stomach, ride with one hand on the reins, and pray that Tern keeps heading straight for the finish line. I don’t slow him, and so he runs.   
We pass Dr. Halsal, and Wilson. And then there is nothing but rain until the beach ends and the gravel begins.   
“Tern,” I gasp, and tug at the reins, and he slows, then stops. He is lathered, breathing hard. But when the race officials appear out of the rain, he steps backwards, and emits a low growl.   
“Tern,” I breathe, then slide out of the saddle only to stagger at the sudden burst of pain.   
“Miss–?” One official take a hesitant step towards me. I realize there’s a ragged hole in both Phipp’s jacket and my sweater, and that it’s a hole filling slowly with blood.   
I force my eyes away from my shoulder. “Who won?”  
The official looks surprised, then glances around at the other riders as they dismount. “You. Didn’t you know?” 

Sean  
I see Puck cross the finish line and then I am running. No thought in my head except that she is injured. She won. But what did is cost her?  
When I reach the finish line, Puck is lying on her back in the sand, Dr. Halsal standing over her. I surge forward, when someone holds me back.  
“Sean!” It’s Ake Palsson, “She dislocated her shoulder, they’re just popping it back in place.”   
I stop fighting his grip, and he lets go. Until Puck lets out a cry of pain, and he has to grab me again. I elbow him in the stomach.  
When Puck sees me, she sits up gingerly. Phipp’s jacket and her sweater have been tossed aside, and she shivers in her white undershirt. Blood drips from the wide tears on her upper right arm.   
I kneel to look at them, when Dr. Halsal stops me.  
“They’re shallow,” he says, “Superficial. And no fractures with the dislocation, but she’ll still need a sling for a week or two.”   
Puck gives me a small smile. She’s still pale from the pain, and cold. “We’ll match,” she tells me.   
Careful of her shoulder I hug her. Just to tell myself that she is really still here, and going to be all right. “I thought–“  
“I know,” she says, “But I’m tougher than that.” She’s shivering.  
I pull back and shrug out of my coat, then drape it over her shoulders. But it’s soaked, and thin, and won’t do much. So I stand and walk over to where the race officials are warily holding Tern. The uisce snorts at me, as if to say, who’s a hero today? but he lets me unsaddle him. I tug the colors off of him, and wrap them around Puck. She staggers to her feet, and fetches Tern. Together we walk up from the beach.

Phipps  
I lie on the crumbling dock in the quay and wait for the rain to stop. Even my socks are wet, but cold and wet is better than nothing.   
Then the water stops hitting my face.  
“Phipps,” I open my eyes and George Holly stands over me. “Come on,” he says, “Dinner is almost ready.”   
I close my eyes again. “Not hungry,” I tell him.  
“But you’re still eating. Small goals,” Holly says. “Eat and sleep regularly. Stay warm and dry...”  
“Save Kate Connolly’s life,” I drag myself to my feet. “I know.”   
Holly gives me a huge smile, and takes my arm to walk me off the pier. “Did you know it would work?” he asks.  
I don’t know what he wants me to say because I knew at the time it could go either way. It would make things better, or worse. But in the end I figured some armor was better than none, and lacking leather, rubber might work. It would certainly be harder for a water horse to bite through than wool. Hell, I didn’t even know she’d get bitten. I just thought she deserved the chance to be dry more than me. “What are you talking about?”   
Holly only grins wider. “What color do you want your new slicker to be?”  
“Dark green,” I tell him, voice flat, “it goes with my hair.”   
“Marvelous,” We start up the road towards the Black Eyed Girl. “When we get to the mainland, we will go shopping, Miss. Phipps.” And George Holly makes me promise. And I can’t tell him no. So I will get back on the ferry. And wander around shops on the mainland. Tonight, I will eat dinner. Though first I’ll dry off. One small goal at a time.


	13. Chapter 13

Spring

Phipps  
I intended to take my name and my bag and leave, but I’m back here. And I don’t know what drew me–Harrison’s decisive voice or the ocean against the cliffs, or my crumbling dock–and it’s unsettling. I tell myself it doesn’t matter.  
It’s just the current.  
“You were there.”  
I don’t turn to look at Finn. Instead, I stare down at my bare feet as they hang over the quay. I lean my head against the railing’s post. “Of course,” I say, “I don’t forget things I bloody my fists for.”  
I think then, that if this were anyone else, they would go away. If this were anyone else, they wouldn’t even talk with me in the first place. Not anymore. But this is Finn Connolly, so he comes and sits beside me, and I look at his shoes and the frayed cuffs of his pants.   
“Besides,” I say, to break the silence, “Everyone was there.”  
“Not all the island.”   
We listen to the waves for a while, and I try and work up the courage to look at him, but I don’t. He’s already there, somewhere in the back of my eyes, anyway. And I see us for a second as a person on the street would. A lanky boy in a dusty suit coat, and a blond girl in a sky-blue dress, her shoes on the pavement behind her. Their hands rest side by side, separated by a glass sheet of air.   
He doesn’t ask me where I’m going now that I’m free, because he knows I don’t know. And I don’t ask him what he will do, now that Kate’s married, because we both know the answer is keep going. Instead he memorizes our shadows on the quay wall and asks, “You’re not going to jump in, are you?”  
“Why?” I ask, “I’m already swimming.” 

Puck  
I take off my shoes, and stand in the kitchen in my dress, making tea because I don’t know what else to do. Sean is un-tacking Dove and I can see him through the window, letting her into the paddock with Skipjack and Rosewood. In an adjacent enclosure, Corr looks on with interest. This would be familiar if Sean wasn’t wearing his suit. It’s slightly out of place and it declares that this is life now. I get a weird shifting feeling, like I have slid sideways into another life. Then Sean gives Dove a pat to send her on her way, and I smile.  
There’s a knock on the door.   
Daly stands on the steps, with his hat in his hands, and a smile on his face. “Letter for you,” he says, “Open it,” and hands me a note on the Malvern stationary. A note to a Mr. and Mrs. Kendrick with a gift for their wedding day. When I look up, Daly has stepped aside, and McAvoy stands in the front yard holding Fisher’s lead.  
Benjamin Malvern will never be predictable. But he’ll always be a bastard.  
“He’s ours?” I ask.  
“’Course,” Quinn says, “And Tern too, if you’ll take him. No one else can ride him after all.”   
“He’s–?“  
Quinn just shrugs, but he’s having a hard time containing his smile. I scramble into my paddock boots, tucking the hem of my dress into one, and follow Quinn out into the yard, And sure enough, Tern stands in a circle of dirt, head as still as possible to keep the bell on his bridle quiet. I walk over slowly, and take the bell off.   
“Want him?” Quinn asks.  
“Why, you don’t want to ride him? He’s the fastest uisce on the island this year.” I say it just so that Daly pales a little and shakes his head. “I’d love to keep him. Thank you.”   
Quinn just nods. “McAvoy will take Fisher out to the paddock. Have a good day. And congratulations, Puck.”   
“Thanks, Quinn. Thank Malvern for me as well, will you?”  
Quinn nods, and sets off after McAvoy. I don’t know how he’s been coping as new head trainer at Malvern’s but the horses are still selling, so he must be getting along. He’s tougher than he first came across as. Or maybe the island has just roughed him up a bit. Shaped him like it’s molded me.   
I scuff out the circle and lead Tern towards the barn. He prances a bit without the bell to weigh him down, but I don’t quiet him. I think my heart is doing the same thing. Sean falls into step beside me. He gives a rare smile to me and Tern.  
“Are you riding this fall?” he asks.  
“Well, it’s like they said four years ago,” I take his hand, but we don’t stop walking. We just slow a little. “It’s not a Scorpio race without a Kendrick.”


End file.
